


You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

by Samcgrath



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Partners, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jealousy, Lots of it, M/M, Mutual Pining, Narcissa knows everything and isn't above blackmail, Possessive Behavior, So much angst, Suicide Attempt, Unrequited Love, Which leads to, and addiction stuff, oh man the angst, or so they think, you could drown in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 74,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6996103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samcgrath/pseuds/Samcgrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry Potter first found out who his partner was going to be, he made a prediction: it won't end well. If only he knew just how badly this was going to end and just how much he was going to end up hurting. If only someone had pulled him aside and told him the cardinal rule - don't fall for your partner. If only.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I have about 30k of this already written and I'm hoping that I've learned my lesson and will stick to the plan. And the plan is to keep it under 45k and so yeah; I have most of this done, is what I mean to say. 
> 
> As usual, this is going to be angsty all the way through the slow build. There will be parts where you'll want to kill me, but like always, I will make it better. So, come with me and you'll be in a world of angsty frustration...!

**Four years ago**

When Harry gets paired with Draco Malfoy, he is equal parts baffled and unsurprised.

Well, baffled because why would Malfoy want to be an Auror? If Harry knows one person who would avoid a physical confrontation at all costs, it's Malfoy. And by physical confrontation, he means any situation that can be potentially dangerous for the git.

The Slytherin sense of self-preservation is too strong for any of that lot to want to become Aurors, so why?

And unsurprised because who else would want to partner with the git?

Nevertheless, it's done. He and Malfoy have been announced partners, they've been assigned desks next to each other, and tomorrow they start the abridged version of training everyone involved in the war is being given.

Draco Malfoy is going to be his partner and Harry can see it ending in disaster, no matter which way they go from here.

***

"Who's your partner??!!”

Ron's face is dangerously red, clashing horribly with his hair and isn't that a very odd thing to think. It's the influence of his new partner, he's sure. 

"Malfoy. It's Malfoy."

Ron's mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and it isn't until Hermione comes and sits by them that Ron can bring himself to speak again. Even then, it's a very limited correspondence.

"Malfoy is your partner? How did that git even get into the Aurors?!"

"He had a fair trial, Ron." But Hermione's calm response is not enough for her husband who insists on prolonging Harry's torture. 

"Why haven't you said no? Do you _want_ him to be your partner?!"

The way Ron's eyes are almost bulging out of his head is comical, and Harry wants to laugh. He also wants to be done with this conversation and just laugh it off but Ron's looking increasingly like he's going to be sick so it's better to just answer.

"No, Ron. I--Kingsley explained why we've been paired."

" _And_?"

Sighing, he takes a sip from his beer and answers: "And no one else wants to work with Malfoy."

"Do _you_?"

For some reason, he feels very self-conscious right now, maybe it's the way Ron's eyes are almost piercing through him. He can't help but rub the back of his neck a little self-consciously. "Well--”

"And how is this your problem, anyway?"

He lifts the bottle to his mouth and mumbles, "He's alright.”

Whatever argument Ron was going to spring on him, Hermione stops him with a hand on his arm: “We didn't fight the war for this kind of discrimination to continue.”

Ron sputters, almost foaming at the mouth. "He called you--that word, Hermione! Remember what he did to Hagrid?”

Hermione Granger-Weasley looks the very picture of calm elegance when she says, “And he got slapped by me for it.”

Harry and Ron both snicker like school-children at her answer because that was brilliant, the time that it happened and it's still brilliant years later. "Malfoy's face when he saw you lifting your hand the second time!"

"Yes well, stop being children about this. We are all carrying the weight of our past on our shoulders, so let's just move on."

Ron rolls his eyes, and he whines and moans all through dinner but in the end, he sees a good thing to come out of this. "You'll be there to see the git failing because there is no way he'd be a good auror. You'll see him messing up on every case!"

“And I'll tell you all about it.”

“Brilliant!"

***

**Present day**

***

Whoever is knocking on his door is relentless.

Harry's been trying to ignore the sound for five minutes at least, but whoever it is just won't go away!

So, he gets out of bed grumbling and groaning, finds his glasses on the bedside table and stumbles out towards the main door. The wood is practically vibrating under the assault of the anonymous knocker. Well, he says anonymous but he knows it's--

"What took you so long, Potter?"

Draco just barges in, he doesn't wait for Harry to step aside and just wiggles around in the narrow corridor till they're both stuck - plastered to each other head to toe, walls pushing them together. It's too early in the day for this. Harry sighs through his nose, eyes closing in frustration. 

His cramped little flat isn't the best place to have company, even if it's only his git of a partner showing up uninvited. The flat is a few hundred square feet across which isn't bad for this part of town and Harry prefers the cozy interior but the corridor leading to the door is narrow enough that Ron has to walk a certain way to pass through it. He had tried magically expanding the area in that first week but it had shrunk back while Harry was standing in the corridor and the blind panic of seeing the walls actually closing in on him has kept him from ever trying that again. 

Draco, of course, knows this thanks to his habit of showing up unannounced. He has, on many occasions, complained about the closet Harry lives in. And in particular, the corridor, and the time Ron had gotten stuck on the far end has been mentioned in multiple insults. 

And yet here they are.

Harry doesn't like being this close to Draco, especially when he isn't even wearing any trousers and Draco won't stop moving. Irritated, Harry lifts up a hand to stop the git from squirming and getting them stuck even worse.

For a moment, they are both still and the intimacy of the moment is lost on neither.

But the very next second, Harry pushes into the wall behind him and slides out towards the kitchen, feeling his naked chest drag across Draco's in the process - the soft linen of his shirt is cool against Harry's skin. He takes a moment to breathe in and out through the haze of arousal.

Draco pays him no regard as he saunters by and barges into the kitchen looking for Merlin knows what. He hasn't noticed Harry's grumpy and sleepy look yet. 

Harry’ll wait.

"Put the kettle on, I've got news." 

Looks like he'll be waiting a long time. 

Heaving a sigh of frustration, he steps past the source of said frustration and goes to fill up the kettle. When he looks up from the stream of water, Draco is rifling through the top cupboards and moving things around like it's his kitchen.

He looks oddly out of place in the tiny kitchen, with his tailor made suit and his impeccable hair. And at the same time, he looks like he belongs here with his hands gripping two mugs and a pack of bread clutched between his teeth. Harry doubts he would ever behave this way in public, a Malfoy using his teeth to carry things - Lucius is probably rolling in his grave right now.

Freezing cold water on his skin from the overflowing kettle brings him back to the task at hand, and he snatches his eyes away and busies himself with putting tea on.

Draco doesn't seem to mind him at all as he makes his way around the kitchen with familiarity in his every move. Resting a hip against the shelf, he watches as Harry heats up the pan and toasts two slices of bread. In silence they stand till Draco says he wants one too.

Sighing, Harry puts the slices on a plate and pushes it toward the intruder: "You want anything on your toast?”

Draco nods and asks, “Got jam?”

He points toward the pantry, “Second shelf.”

Draco pushes off of the counter and disappears into the little pantry, giving Harry a much needed moment to breathe properly. His eyes slip closed and for just a second, the only noise in the kitchen is the sound of butter sizzling in the pan. For just a second, he can be himself and not constantly on edge and waiting for something to happen--

"You have an abysmal pantry. Then again, I'm surprised you even have one given the size of this shoebox you live in."

Squaring his shoulders, Harry looks at Draco and just shakes his head. They stand in silence waiting for the kettle to go.

Some days like this, it takes a real effort for Harry to not give in and just burn down this façade they've created.

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that first chapter didn't go nearly as well as I was hoping. Hmmm. I'm just going to post the second chapter, whatever man.

Rubbing floo powder off his shoulders, he walks into the office to see Draco already waiting for him.

No greeting and no polite conversation about his weekend, the git opens with: "Why weren't you at the friendly Quidditch match yesterday?"

Unbuttoning his coat, Harry sighs and answers, "I had to go to Neville's lecture."

He had known there would be a bit of explaining and a moderate amount of begging because he and Draco had planned to attend the match months ago but Neville had come around on Friday and announced the lecture and everyone else was going so Harry had agreed to come too, to support his mate.

Except he hadn't gotten a chance to owl Draco about the change of plans. So he had totally expected a cold shoulder but what comes next was not even on his radar of possibilities.

Draco sniffs slightly, and nods as if he’s actually considering Harry’s side of things which is new and unexpected.

Oh good, he might just get away with-- "So you value him more than your partner who puts his life at risk for you, every single day. Okay, good to know."

"What?!”

The idiot points a very thin and bony finger right between Harry’s eyes and snaps, “Don't lie to me, Potter.”

"I didn't even say anythi--”

"This conversation is over." The git saunters away without even giving Harry a chance to speak. 

Godric, what’s just happened here? He hasn't even sat down yet.

A teacup is sadly looking up at him from his desk and he hasn't even taken his coat off. 

Merlin, it's going to be a rough day.

***

And it is.

Ron is waiting for them outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes; he's pacing back and forth in the narrow space in front of the shop with angry, stomping steps. There's a young girl on the pavement beside him, a crup's leash gripped tightly in her hand. She doesn't seem to be minding Ron's frantic pacing but the crup looks like he'll start barking any second now.

Ron stops short when his eye catches Harry's, the beginnings of a smile on his face but then - very slowly - his head turns to look at something to Harry's left and the smile practically evaporates.

To his left, of course, is Draco sauntering on in that annoying way he does and he's grinning which makes Harry just want to hit him upside the head - he would if they hadn't had that row the last time Harry had whacked him across the back of the head in the middle of a crime scene - but he settles for a glare.

Sensing his anger, Draco turns to look at him and slowly but surely the grin disappears from his face. By the time they reach Ron, Draco's just smirking. And that smirk is as much a part of Draco as the scar is of Harry so he doesn't even bother trying to get him to drop it. It has never worked in the past and he doubts it’ll work today.

Still, Draco’s voice is way too cheerful when he greets Ron. “Weasley! You rang?”

Ron's nostrils flare in rage, the girl is now looking between Ron and Draco like a spectator at a tennis match, and he spits out "Didn't ring you, you wanker!”

Harry physically inserts himself between his best mate and his partner, because no one will benefit from a duel right now. He moves closer to his mate, coaxes him away from Draco with a gentle hand on his elbow. “Ron, what's happened?"

To say things are strained between Ron and Draco would be a giant understatement. And to say Harry's done with their shit, would be an even bigger one.

Ron looks at Draco over Harry’s shoulder once but shakes his head as if to put him out of his mind before answering Harry’s question. “There's money missing from the till. Hundred galleons, and no one's seen anything."

"Okay, let's go inside and take a look."

Draco goes to enter first but Harry stops him with a hand on his chest. The look of pure innocence and incredulity that Draco shoots him would be better suited on the face of a five year old child and not this blond bastard.

Shaking his head, Draco murmurs: “Manners, Potter.”

All Harry can come up with right now is: "Behave." He makes sure to raise his eyebrows in question, hand still burning against Draco’s chest as he stands there and waits for acquiescence.

Draco sniffs lightly and steps back, letting Harry pass. Except of course, the melodramatic arse that he is, he curtsies and with tooth rotting sweetness says, “Fine, after you, O' Chosen One.”

Ron's look of utter annoyance is nothing new but there's a tinge of reverence in his voice when he asks Harry, "How do you handle working with him everyday?"

"With a lot of whiskey and constant homicide ideation." He tries to say it in a murmur because he’ll be the one stuck in an office with the git and he’ll be the one who will never hear the end of it.

And sure enough, he gets a face full of blond git asking him, "You say something, Potter?”

"No, let's go check the wards."

At least the twit silently follows him and starts checking the wards around the shop without a fight. It's very usual for them to start arguing right on the scene, and for a witness account to reach Robards' desk before even they make it back to the Ministry.

The last time it'd happened, they'd been forced to stay at their desks and do paperwork for a week. So there is no way Harry is even going to give the git a chance to have a row. And the way Ron and he are at each other's throats every time they're in the same room, there likely is going to be a row.

"Potter, over here!"

Shaking off his thoughts, he rushes over to find Draco standing beside the door into the backroom, looking smug. Harry suspects he has worked out a clue. He also suspects that Draco won't tell him till he asks.

Sighing, he does ask.

"Footprints. Going into the back room”, comes the smug response accompanied by a giant smirk and raised eyebrows.

"They could be anyone's, Drac--"

"Size 4? I don't think so.” More smugness.

Harry leans down to look closely at the prints and they are definitely smaller than an average sized foot. Well, it's got to be-- “A goblin."

"A child”, Draco interjects.

There's a tense moment as Harry can feel his partner snickering behind him, so he stays where he is for a second to let him finish before getting up and facing the man.

"Okay, a child”, he concedes the more reasonable explanation. “Why would a child steal money and then go into the back room of a shop?”

There’s the beginning of that infuriating smirk on Draco’s face as he starts speaking, "You think a goblin would--"

"Fine.” Harry cuts him off. “Let's say it is a child, how'd they get out of the back room?”

"Maybe they had a key.”

"What? Draco, I doubt that a child could plan a heist on a shop and make duplicate keys.”

"I was talking about Teddy." In that instant, he sounds unnervingly like a certain Potions professor in his signature ‘Why do I bother with you, Potter?’ way.

Harry turns around and walks away, leaving Draco and Draco's laughter behind him as he goes to find Ron. He's at the till, helping a group of Hogwarts students with their purchases.

Harry does a quick u-turn, motioning for Ron to come over when he’s ready, and goes to wait for him at the back of the shop. He is not thinking about how he just compared Draco to Snape, he is not comparing his worst nightmare with his partner--thankfully, Ron comes looking for him and rescues Harry from his own mind.

"Did uh--did Teddy come in today?", he asks Ron in his best casual voice; Draco’s theory rankling at the back of his mind. 

Ron nods absentmindedly, hands flying to straighten a display of the newest WWW product - the perfume that changes fragrance based on a person’s crush, the Odeur de L'amour - “Yeah, George brought him over. He and Fred were around for a bit. Why?”

He tries his best to look unperturbed, even as Draco’s words keep echoing through his mind. “Nothing just--how did he seem?"

"Normal. A bit antsy but that's just him, right?"

Harry's eyes are raking across the shop now, looking at the customers in there, noticing the little details as he absently agrees with Ron, “Right.”

"Why? What's happened?”, worry has crept into Ron’s voice.

Snapping his eyes back to his mate, Harry tries to keep the charade going: "Oh nothing, just curious.”

Ron nods, looking only half-convinced as he asks, "So what have you found?”

"We're still lookin--”

“Why would Teddy steal a hundred galleons, you think?", Draco appears out of nowhere, cutting him off mid-sentence.

_Subtlety, thy name is certainly not Draco Malfoy._

Harry’s eyes have closed in utter helplessness, and when he opens them it’s to find that Draco's skidded to a stop at having finally spotted Ron, and Ron just screeches in surprise at the revelation. Great. 

"I don't know, why don't we ask him?", he says in the most exasperated voice he can muster because Draco’s just opened a whole can of worms that Harry will most likely be trying to close for months to come.

As if on cue, Ron reaches out and grabs Harry's shoulder; his panicked voice asking: “You really think Teddy did it?"

"I don't know, mate. But I intend to find out."

They leave Ron with a promise to let him know whatever they find out. Harry is really not looking forward to having this conversation with his godson.

Drowning in guilt about his failure as a godfather, he walks out of the shop followed by a very quiet Draco. They'll have to floo over to Andromeda's house in Wiltshire, and most likely engage in a very awkward conversation with her.

He's thinking of all the possible reasons why Teddy's done it and they all come back to him being a shit role model. Draco interrupts his inner musings with a terse, “Why don't I talk to Teddy?”

Harry doesn't know what to do other than nod.

***

Teddy comes out of the room with his head bowed, followed closely by Draco.

Harry's shaking with anticipation at this point but he doesn't want to intimidate Teddy so he holds back. Instead of approaching, he leans against the wall and watches as Draco leads Teddy to the sofa and the two sit down side by side.

Draco meets his eyes over Teddy's head; he looks calm. Then again, when has Draco Malfoy not looked calm?

 _Well, there was that time in sixth year_ \--not now!

Harry raises his eyebrows, silently asking him what's happening but Draco just blinks at him. Harry doesn't know what to do with that, he's sure the blind panic on his face tells Draco as much but before he can do anything else, Teddy's timid voice pulls his attention away.

"Harry, I want to tell you something.”

He's moving across the room and kneeling in front of his godson within a second.

"Anything, Teddy.”

"Promise you won't be angry? Draco says you won't punish me if I tell you the truth.”

He looks up at Draco and finds him already staring back. He nods once at Harry.

"Yeah, okay. I promise."

Teddy's body seems to sag with relief the second he hears those words. Merlin, this is really worrying him now. What's so bad that Teddy was this distressed over Harry being angry with him?

A meek little voice breaks him out his thoughts. "Okay. Well, you know how I started playing with Fred?"

He hesitantly nods at Teddy, not sure where this is going: “Y-yeah?”

"He said that--he made a bet that if I can steal from Ron's shop without anyone finding out then he'll tell me what his dad said about my dad. I just wanted to know what Uncle George said. Cuz you never talk about him, about my dad.”

Teddy's lower lip is wobbling and Harry's sure that he's on the verge of tears and he doesn't know what to do here--

He has to look away from the little boy in front of him, and his eyes catch Draco's accidentally and he just shakes his head. _He can't do this._

Draco leans down and whispers something in Teddy's ear who looks up at his cousin with wide eyes and nods.

"Okay, how about Harry gets us all ice-cream as a gesture of goodwill? Get to it, Potter!”

Without any response, he gets up off the floor and walks into the kitchen as if on autopilot. If he's a little teary eyed and sniffling, no one needs to know. Making sure he's got his back to the door, he wipes his face on the sleeve of his shirt and takes a deep breath.

_He can do this._

In the brand new, fully-stocked fridge he'd bought last week, there's three kinds of ice-cream. Teddy's favourite, his favourite and Draco's, which probably means something but he's going to blatantly ignore that and get to serving.

He feels someone standing behind him just as he's scooping the mint ice cream into a bowl.

"Are you okay?"

Turning slightly, he sees Draco coming to lean against the shelf on his right. His long frame is bent out of shape so he can meet Harry's eyes.

"'m fine”, he mumbles hoping Draco won’t push.

"Okay.”

He's quiet, doesn't argue but the way he's still looking at Harry makes it very clear that he doesn't quite believe what he's been told.

Harry tries to pay him no mind as he opens up the tutti-frutti and scoops up a large serving, but Draco’s eyes just won't relent and Harry's not up for a suspect interview right now so he snaps, "What?”

"Nothing, I'm just making sure you aren't being a cheap bastard and giving me less than yourself."

Expecting an inquisition, Harry wasn't ready for this at all. He bursts out laughing, and shaking his head at the man-child beside him.

Draco's smiling very softly when their eyes meet. Harry just shakes his head and adds an extra scoop of tutti-frutti to the bowl, eyes still fixed on the man beside him.

"There! Have an extra scoop, you mistrusting git.”

"It's not really extra seeing as how your bowl was more filled than mine."

How did Harry forget that Draco is competitive as all hell, and he's got an epic sweet tooth? Of course, he'd argue even if it's pretty clear that Harry had served them all equally.

Well, at least he's feeling much better than he did a minute ago. Maybe that's what the git was trying to do, but of course his emotional incompetence wouldn't allow any comforting speeches and Harry's not sure if he himself could handle a comforting speech from Draco Malfoy.

No, this is better. Draco distracting him with childish antics suits them both much better than any awkward conversation could.

Putting the boxes back into the freezer, he offers over his shoulder, "Feel free to have a spoonful of mine, if you like."

"Mint chocolate chip? I'd rather starve for a week.”

Closing the fridge door, he just shakes his head in disbelief. "Barmy git.”

"Barmy git with a good taste, at least.” The bastard smirks like he knows he's won this argument, with sheer determination and no logic.

Precariously balancing the three bowls in his hands, he’s turning to leave when he feels a hand on his arm. Draco's standing behind him, all traces of the smirk gone and replaced by a seriousness that makes his gray eyes seem much darker.

Harry looks down at the long fingers curled around his arm and up again at his partner's face.

"He's alright, just a little emotional right now.”

Harry looks down at the bowls in his hand and nods instead of looking into his eyes, “Good, that's good."

He's expecting Draco to let go now but he doesn't. Harry looks at him curiously to see why won't he let go, and he finds himself at the end of a piercing gaze.

Draco's fingers tighten around his arm, as if he wants Harry to really feel the grip as he says the next part. “It's not your fault. He wants to know about his father but it’s a raw nerve for you, completely understandable that you don't talk about Lupin a lot. Don't blame yourself."

Harry can't look away, he’s stuck here with Draco's words echoing in his mind and gray eyes piercing right through him--

"Harry!"

Startled, they spring apart to find Teddy rushing into the kitchen to save the bowl that’s about to slip from Harry’s hands.

He doesn't dare look at Draco, too scared of what he might find there. Or perhaps, what he might not. Instead, he utters a rushed apology to Teddy about the ice cream and follows him out of the kitchen.

Draco doesn't come out behind them, he notices as Teddy plops down on the sofa and pulls Harry to sit beside him. His godson's making all kinds of happy noises as he devours his black currant ice cream but Harry can’t really enjoy his own.

It feels like something monumental has just passed between them but he can’t bring himself to act on it. So, he sits there on the sofa with a bowl of melting ice cream in his lap and a happy Teddy beside him.

Draco shows up a bit later, eyes darting across the room rather than meeting Harry’s as he settles on the other side of Teddy.

Life goes on.

***


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important note for this fic: the partnership in this is influenced by the lead pair in Castle. I used to watch that show religiously till I stopped but I got back into it recently and some of their cases/interactions were so great that I wanted to model Draco and Harry's interactions on them. Once I knew I wanted to write an auror fic, I decided to rewatch the show for inspiration. So, you'll notice a few similarities. This is supposed to be a partner fic where they have well established tension for years before things start stirring. Enjoy!
> 
> ***** - flashback

“You went to the little camping thing with Weasley?”

Harry looks up from his half finished report to see Draco standing over his desk--more like looming really. And he seems to be waiting for an answer he already knows judging by the hardened eyes and the clenched jaw.

_First, that camping trip was almost two weeks ago. Second, how does Draco know this? Has he just found out? Where from? Why now?_

There are so many questions.

He takes a moment to answer, narrowing his eyes at his partner and watching him for a second. Draco looks the slightest bit hesitant at Harry’s inquisitive look but he doesn’t back down. Instead his pointy chin tilts up challengingly.

Sighing, Harry puts the quill down. There’s no walking away from this; he might as well give in.

See, Draco’s got this habit of walking into a room and just launching a conversation with no context whatsoever. And then he expects Harry to drop everything and engage in these weird conversations.

In the beginning of their partnership, Harry had made the mistake of pointing this out and then Draco hadn’t said a single word to him for two weeks.

Apparently, Draco Malfoy’s idea of communication is either silent treatment or barging into rooms and interrupting people with invasive questions.

Harry choses invasive questions every time.

“Yeah, why?”

A hand lands on his desk and Harry’s eyes fly to it without meaning to. Well, it’s a beautiful hand with long, delicate fingers and a stark contrast of veins under pale skin and--

"You've never gone with me to camping."

He snaps his eyes up to look at Draco, confusion colouring his thoughts very very quickly because, _what?_

"But you don't even like camping.”

The git waves his hand like Harry’s said something completely irrelevant and unimportant and sure enough the next words out of his mouth are: "That's inconsequential."

Harry stares at him in disbelief, the words have registered but not really sunk in. He can’t help himself from watching the gray eyes as they bore into him as if Draco’s just made a brilliant argument that Harry couldn’t possibly do better than.

It’s utter madness that the git has said something so idiotic with such infuriating confidence that Harry actually stumbles over what to say.

“I--we can go sometime.”

He sniffs and walks away without another word.

Harry sits there staring at the empty spot that Draco was just in, resisting the urge to pull out all his hair.

***

The scrawny kid in Interrogation Room 1 is the only thing standing between Draco and the weekend.

Harry knows, from experience, that this means the kid is going to be at the receiving end of verbal abuse from one of the most sharp tongued people he’s had the pleasure of knowing in this life.

Doesn’t bode well for the kid, which is why Harry is trying to make this easy for him. He’s even brought the kid a glass of pumpkin juice, hoping he’ll give a quick confession and they won’t have to stay overtime.

The kid, however, is stupid. He gulped down his glass of pumpkin juice and then went on to do the whole ‘ _I’m a tough lad, the aurors can’t break me_ ’ bit. Usually, Harry and Draco would both be enjoying the little performance while egging on whoever was being the smart arse sitting in the opposite chair.

Now, at 3:45 pm on a Friday, it’s not funny.

“You look like your mum’s a polar bear and your dad’s a panda”, says the little runt, pointing a finger at the chair beside Harry’s.

He looks worriedly from the kid to his partner, whose pale complexion and fair hair have just been insulted. And he knows how Draco takes criticism about his appearance, his hair in particular.

_He needs to intervene, he needs to intervene._

“Erm, why don’t you worry about your parents, um--”, Harry fumbles through his notebook to the find the name doodled in a corner surrounded by tiny little snitches, “--Adam? Your mum’s been informed and she denied to post bail so you’ll be sleeping in the holding cells tonight. We have a few lowlifes spending the night in there currently.”

All the blood drains out of the little rat’s face the second he hears Harry say that. Seeing as how they’re professionals, Harry hides his smile behind his hand and clears his throat.

One look at Draco tells him his partner is running dangerously low on patience and is likely one ill-timed comment away from cursing out this child in five different languages. And as the more responsible one in this partnership, Harry takes the lead once again.

He raises a questioning eyebrow at their teenaged criminal who folds like a deck of cards and offers up, “I didn’t do it. I just wanted him to like me!”

Sometimes, they make it too easy.

Harry leans forward to rest his elbows on the table and asks, “Who? Who do you want to like you?” He can almost taste the victory, they’ve been chasing this idiotic vigilante who’s been running around Knockturn and hitting ‘bad’ people with dark curses.

“Lone Wolf.”

Harry wants to facepalm at the sheer idiocy of some child running around in tights, pretending to be some kind of hit wizard and calling himself ‘Lone Wolf’. He controls himself, barely, and settles for running a hand down his face.

Draco has no such scruples and he does facepalm, loud enough that the kid and Harry both flinch at the almost thunderous sound of Draco’s palm hitting his forehead as it echoes around the sparsely furnished room.

Merlin, that must’ve hurt.

Under the table, Harry pushes his leg up against Draco’s and when their eyes meet, he tries to convey via the power of his mind that Draco should act like an auror. Sighing, the blond does seem to be making an effort as he blinks a few times like he’s trying to wake himself up.

Then, they both turn to look at their charge, who’s looking more and more sickly by the second.

Harry once again, asks the questions. “Lone Wolf?”

Adam nods enthusiastically like Harry’s just asked him if he’d like a hundred galleons. Ignoring the hero-worshipping anticipation on the kid’s face, Harry continues his interrogation.

“How do you know about Lone Wolf?”

“Who doesn’t know about Lone Wolf?”, comes the response and Harry senses Draco stiffening beside him.

In a bid to avoid a very sticky situation of hexes being thrown at a minor child by an auror, he rushes into the next question. “Have you ever met Lone Wolf?”

“‘course I have. I’ve met him twice.” Pride is clear in Adam’s voice, and Harry wonders if his mother knows what kind of trouble her son is in. Does she know he’s been putting himself in danger to impress some maniacal vigilante?

“Where?”, Harry asks.

Adam rolls his eyes like a true teenager and says in the most put upon voice, “Knockturn Alley.”

For the first time since this started, Draco shows interest in the questioning. He leans in closer to Adam and in a very calm tone- it’s the calmness that always scares him about Draco - asks, “Can you be a little more specific?”

Adam nods, but doesn’t say anything. This isn’t a game you play with a Malfoy, but Adam can’t possibly know that so he tries. Naive. 

Draco silently stares at the kid, and half a minute later he gets an answer through the sheer force of a Malfoy™ glare. “That run-down pub at the inner corner. He was in the little alley behind the pub.”

Draco relaxes back into his chair, giving Harry the lead once again.

“Why do you want him to like you, Adam?”, he asks curiously, and yet dreading the answer.

“I want to be his disciple. Maybe his partner. It’s--it’s my destiny. You see, it’s fate--”

Draco cuts him off with a gruff, “He doesn’t want a partner.”

Adam looks like he’s about to cry any moment, not that that’s going to stop Draco. The kid’s voice goes unusually high when he asks, “How do you know?”

Draco looks like he’s about to jump out of the window beside his chair.

Then, in the most monotone voice, he offers: “Lone wolf. _Lone._ ”

Harry has to curl his lips to stop himself from laughing, and the slow realization that dawns on Adam’s face only makes it worse.

He snaps his notebook shut and gets out of his chair, having gotten everything they need. Draco trudges out after him and they’re off to Knockturn Alley to tame this Lone Wolf.

After a two hour long raid mission, they finally catch up to Lone Wolf, who could maybe pass for a 20-year old if you squinted really hard.

Since it’s well past their shift time, Robards pats them both on the back and tells them they’re free to go. Someone from Interrogation will be taking Lone Wolf’s statement.

“Ridgewell!” Harry chuckles, as they get into the MInistry lift to go up to Level Nine. “Can you believe Lone Wolf’s real name is Ridgewell?”

Draco looks like he’s about to faint any moment, there are even dark circles underneath his eyes which is a rare sight. If he could see himself right now, Harry’s sure Draco would be apparating right from the moving lift.

As they get out on their level, Harry excuses himself to go to the bathroom while Draco trudges down the hall toward their office. He raises a half-hearted hand to acknowledge that he’s heard Harry, but otherwise doesn’t look back or slow down.

“I’ll catch up to you”, Harry says but he doubts Draco hears or cares.

He catches his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, he doesn’t look much better than his partner. His hair’s sticking up like usual but even he can tell it’s much more of a mess, and his bloodshot eyes probably give away the fact that he hasn’t slept well in days.

Cold water helps, his face feels much cleaner now that the dirt and grime from the duel with the Lone Wolf have come off. He dries off and stands in front of the mirror for another moment.

Draco almost died today.

Ridgewell had been waiting for them in the little alley Adam had told them about, and because Harry was too busy talking about his recent chats with Teddy, he had completely failed to notice the dark figure lurking in the shadows.

He had failed to take Ridgewell down and that’s why the kid had almost blown Draco to bits. Thankfully, his partner is paranoid and hyper-vigilant even when he’s exhausted.

Draco had reacted quickly, pulling Harry with him as they’d both landed on the cobbled ground with their wands at the ready. The two of them had thrown spell after spell at their vigilante, and after that it had been a quick arrest.

Now, as Harry looks up and finds his own eyes in the mirror, he can see the fear floating in them. He could have lost Draco today.

_I have to tell him._

He walks out of the bathroom, half determined to say what he should’ve said a long time ago. The other half of his brain is telling him it’s just the adrenalin from the raid and that he’ll regret saying anything once he’s calmed down.

By the time he reaches the office door, he’s split between what he should do. Lifting a shaking hand to open the door, with his heart pounding in his chest, he doesn’t know what he’s about to do.

"Drac---" The door opens to reveal an empty office. He looks around for Draco but it’s very clear he’s not here.

There’s a note on Harry’s desk on the back of a discarded memo; he walks over to pick up the piece of paper and finds Draco’s handwriting on the back of it.

_Gone home, really tired. See you for Sunday breakfast. - D._

Scoffing at his own luck, Harry puts the note back down on the desk. The silence of the office and the Ministry around him is sobering; the longer he stands there, the more convinced he becomes that it’s a good thing Draco left.

If he’d said it - riled up by the adrenalin - and Draco had turned him down, he’s not sure he would’ve come back on Monday.

Sighing, he collects his things and locks the office behind him.

***

He’s reading the morning’s paper over a half-abandoned breakfast when an article on the second page about their arrest catches his eye. There’s a photo of Harry and Kingsley below the headline, talking while aurors take Ridgewell into custody in the background. And there’s Draco looking dead on his feet behind Harry, and he’s yawning.

He watches the photo looping for a good five minutes thinking about what happened last night and what he almost did. Now, as he sits here in his flat with the bright summer sun outside and a cup of tea in front of him, he can’t believe he was about to ruin it all with a few words.

In the light of day, it seems like a terrible mistake that he was saved from. Thank god Draco left when he did or Harry would’ve made a fool of himself and ruined everything just because he had adrenalin coursing through his veins after the rush of the raid.

He puts the paper down and picks up his teacup, it’s still warm thank Merlin. There are sounds of children playing outside that get louder as he walks over to the window looking out onto the street. The sun feels brilliant on his skin so he stands there and sips his tea, thinking.

This is not the first time he’s said or done something in the heat of the moment--or well, the heat of a case.

Working alongside someone like Draco, and with their history, it’s always hard to know when to hold back. Especially when they walk into a mission blind, not knowing if they’ll come back and then coming back. That invincibility always makes Harry feel alive, alive enough to do stupid things that make no sense in the light of day.

The first time they’d had a death scare was probably the moment everything had fallen into place. No, it was _definitely_ the moment everything had aligned perfectly and suddenly things that he was baffled by made perfect sense.

It was little over a year into their partnership when it’d happened. He remembers that day like it was yesterday, can feel that same fear that’d clutched his heart that day.

*****

_“Get it away from me.” Disgust and contempt was clear as day on Malfoy’s face as he glared at Harry. This was actually the first time Harry had seen him sneer, like proper sneer, since Hogwarts._

_“_ It _is a child.” He’d said, moving the baby in his lap from his left leg to his right leg. The baby, Olivia, had giggled and taken Harry’s finger into her mouth and happily chewed on it with her toothless gums._

_When Harry’d looked up from the adorable sight to see why his partner was so silent all of a sudden, it was to find Draco glaring at Olivia. His eyes had met Harry’s over the baby’s head and he has almost hissed: “Do I look like I care?”_

_“Seriously? You hate babies? What else do you hate - pygmy puffs? Rainbows? Captain America?”_

_The confused yet disgusted look on his partner’s face had made Harry gasp, “You don’t know about Captain America!”_

_Draco had gotten out of the chair without a word and started walking away, and Harry still doesn’t know what possessed him to get up and follow his partner while Olivia was settled on his hip, reaching up for his glasses._

_The whole department had turned to watch Draco Malfoy storming off towards the lift while Harry Potter followed him with a squealing baby in his arms._

_It’d been quite a sight, Harry’s sure, but he never got ribbed about it because the moment the lift door had opened, a masked man had pointed his wand straight at Draco’s heart and cast_ Cruciatus _on him._

_“Death Eater scum!”_

_Harry’d stood stunned for a moment, the baby now crying in his arms as the man had prepared to point his wand once again at the writhing body on the floor. Somehow Harry had disarmed the man while still holding on to Olivia._

_Later, after the man was arrested and the baby was returned to the parents who’d been meeting with Robards and had come out at the commotion, Harry had sat at his desk completely dumbfounded._

_Draco, who’d been looked at by a healer and given a clean bill of health, had come and sat in that chair where he’d complained about the baby just a few hours prior._

_He and Harry had looked at each for a moment too long and it had started to click in._

_But it didn’t really make sense till later when Harry had received an anonymous note threatening him -_ If you don’t stop associating with Death Eater scum, you will meet a similar end. No one will even find your body.

_He’d rushed to get his emergency muggle phone out of the desk and called the phone he had gotten Draco as part of a prank. He’d apparated to the street Draco’s building was on and called him._

_He hadn’t picked up the first three times._

_And when he had, he’d cursed at Harry like there was no tomorrow. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Potter?!”_

_“Drac--”_

_“You want to do this now? After I got_ Crucio _ed by a psychopathic killer?”_

_“Listen to m--”_

_“Are you fucking serious, playing pranks--”_

_“Draco, they’re still trying to kill you, they’re still trying to--”_

_On the other end, he’d heard a voice yelling - “Death Eater scum!”_

_“Drac--”_

_BANG._

_Harry had instinctively crouched low to the ground at loud sound. He’d even looked away as the realization set in - an explosion had gone off. He hadn’t wanted to look up, hadn’t wanted to find what he knew he would._

_Slowly, numbly, he had looked up._

_FIRE._

_THE WHOLE BUILDING--BURNT._

_Glass and debris from the building had rained down on the street. He couldn’t hear anything, his whole body had gone numb and he couldn’t hear anything through his ringing ears--a sudden sound of people screaming had pushed him back into the reality of the situation._

_Draco’s flat was burning in front of his very eyes, the phone in his hand was dead._

_He couldn’t move._

_Couldn’t look away from the burning flat._

He’s dead.

Draco’s gone.

_He had fallen to his knees on the road, phone slipping out of his fingers as he’d lifted his hand to pull at his hair._

_Merlin, what’s just happened?_

_Draco’s gone._

_Then, it had all settled neatly into place._

He was in love with Draco.

He had spent four days shut up in 12 Grimmauld Place with Kreacher’s wards keeping everyone out as he drank himself to near death. Nothing had parsed through the haze of drunken remorse and pain.

The only reason he had even made it through four days was because Kreacher had force fed him when he knew Harry wasn’t in any state to refuse to eat.

He doesn’t remember much about those four days but he knows this much: he was convinced that he had lost the only person he’d ever fall for.

And he could’ve still recovered from that if the added pain of only just realizing that he was in love with Draco wasn’t there. If he didn’t spend every lucid moment thinking about what could have been if only he’d just realized sooner, if only he wasn’t the most oblivious idiot ever.

Then, someone had forced their way through Kreacher’s wards and Harry had woken up to find Hermione looking down at him with rage in her eyes. She had yelled at him, even louder when he complained about his headache, and then made him shower and change his clothes before forcing him to go somewhere with her.

He’d protested, even apparated to get away from her but she’d found him and she’d forced and he’d struggled until--”Potter! There you are!”

Maybe it was the drinking or maybe it was the staying shut in his house or maybe it was something else entirely but Harry had found himself down on his knees the next second.

“Harry, are you okay?”, Hermione was beside him also kneeling, looking at him with worried eyes. He hadn’t known what to say to her.

Then, he’d felt someone walking up to his other side and he had looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing there, alive and perfectly fine from the looks of it and even happy given how he’d smirked down at Harry and said, “I’ve been gone four days, Potter, and you’re kneeling in front of me? If only I’d known this in Hogwarts, I’d have you kneeling in front of me as the entire school watched!”

Harry’s a little fuzzy on what happened after that but he’s been told that he got up and punched Draco and then pulled the git to him like a long lost friend.

He’d also been told that Draco had survived the attack because of a brilliant use of _Protego_ but also because he’d actually paid attention to Harry’s warning (yeah, thanks, Potter!). And when Harry had snapped at them all about letting him think his partner was dead, he had been informed - not very kindly - that they’d all tried to reach him but his idiot of an elf hadn’t let them through.

He still hasn’t told anyone that it was him who had made Kreacher ward the house, and he hasn’t breathed a single word about what he did in those four days or why he hid after watching his partner get blown to pieces.

He reckons Hermione knows but doesn’t say anything.

*****

Sunday breakfast at Andromeda’s house has become a tradition of sorts. It’d started when Andromeda had reconnected with Narcissa and had invited Harry along to act as a buffer, more or less.

In fact, that was the first time Harry had met Draco outside of their work partnership. By that point, they’d only ever gone to the pub once or twice to celebrate a solved case or had an occasional take-away late at night in the office, while poring over files.

Anyway, it’d been a somewhat awkward meal in the beginning but halfway through, Teddy’s constant questions to both Harry and his newly-found cousin, Draco, had facilitated a rather nice get together.

So now, every Sunday, the five of them have breakfast at Andromeda’s villa. And more often than not, Harry’s the only one who floos in looking dishevelled and half asleep. The Black sisters always look magnificent even at 7 am on a Sunday, and Teddy is often the one who keeps Harry company with his just-rolled-out-of-bed look.

Draco, sometimes, turns up just a little disordered. Harry has the most difficult time on those days, because Draco’s usually neatly parted or gel-slicked hair hangs over his eyes in a soft fringe on those days. His tailor made suits are replaced by soft-looking muggle tee-shirts on those days and Harry has to fight the urge to corner him.

Today is one of those days, and Narcissa is telling her son off for not dressing up properly while Teddy and Harry are sat opposite the Malfoys, both yawning.

Finally, Andromeda appears followed by her house elf who snaps her fingers and a breakfast feast appears on the table before them.

“Dig in”, Andromeda announces and both Teddy and Harry are the first ones to do so.

Across the table, Draco rolls his eyes at the eager display but honestly, when there are four kinds of potatoes on the table, Harry couldn’t care less what Draco thinks of him.

Conversation covers the usual topics of weather, work, and Teddy’s week. Apparently, Andromeda is planning a trip to Italy and Vienna later in the year and Narcissa has agreed to go along.

“Would you boys like to join us? Teddy’s coming, so it’ll just be you two for a few weeks. Might as well come along for a break.” Andromeda looks at both Harry and Draco, waiting for an answer.

Harry finds Draco’s eyes across the table, who nods almost imperceptibly.

“Maybe, if we haven’t got a case going on. How about we get back to you on that?”, he offers to Andromeda. She nods and goes back to her tea.

Just as Harry’s looking away, his eyes catch on Narcissa. There’s a very strange expression on her face, a very thoughtful one. She catches Harry looking and offers him a quick smile before hiding behind her own teacup.

He shakes it off as nothing, she’s thinking about the holiday most likely, he reckons. Breakfast goes on as usual.

***

Another tradition that’s stuck around is a few games of poker at Harry’s on Sunday evening. The usual suspects are Harry, Draco, Ron, George, Seamus, Dean, and Blaise Zabini. Sometimes, Hermione comes along and beats them all at every single hand.

Tonight, Hermione’s working on an important presentation so it’s only the boys. An odd bunch, at that. If someone had told Harry a few years ago that he’d be playing poker with Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini in his own flat, he’d have apparated them straight to St. Mungo’s.

But it’s a typical Sunday evening for them now. Everyone comes around whenever they’re free and they play poker - it had been a long and arduous process to explain the game to the majority of the group, who were used to exploding snap - till someone says they should go and then slowly everyone remembers things that need to be done at home.

It’s also the one place where he and Draco flirt openly, with no consequence to their partnership. It’s an unspoken rule, one Harry never agreed to but had had to accept when that first Monday he’d turned up at the office expecting Draco to act differently because of all the flirting at the game, and he’d been shot down.

Draco had cut him off when Harry had tried to bring up the game, he had acted like he didn’t even remember how he’d looked at Harry, how he’d--anyway, Harry had figured it out when the next week, Draco had been happy to flirt during the game but once again refused to acknowledge it Monday morning.

So it’s become the unspoken rule: they push, they poke, they prod, and tease at these games which is exactly what’s happening right now. Harry’s sat opposite Draco, they’re the only ones left in this round and it’s Harry’s call.

The others have divided themselves into teams - Blaise, George, and Seamus are backing Draco. In George’s words, ‘Harry, no offense, but Draco’s regular face could beat your best poker face any day’.

Ron and Dean are on Harry’s side, as they usually whenever the game ends up being between Harry and his git of a partner, which happens every few weeks.

Harry looks down at his cards - with Ron and Dean practically breathing down his neck - and back up at the man across from him.

The git leans back in his chair and asks, “What’s the matter, Potter? You’re not afraid of a little action, are you?”

He and Draco stare at each other, nothing else exists outside this. Draco’s lips are curved up in a slight smirk and his eyes are almost sparkling under the temporarily transfigured chandelier. He moves his head just slightly, enough to make it seem like a dare, a challenge and Harry just wants to beat him at this hand.

“All in.”

A loud chorus of “Harry, no--”, “What’re you doing, Harry?”, “Beat him, Draco!”, “Wipe the floor with him!” sounds around them but Harry can only focus on one person.

The bastard’s lips curl in a smile and Harry knows he’s been played.

Blaise turns the cards and sure enough Harry’s just lost two hundred galleons.

All he gets in response is a curt little nod from Draco.

Blond bastard.

***

On Monday, Draco barges into the office -- half panting -- and looks straight at Harry. “It’s urgent, an emergency. We have to go to Priya's.”

Harry's out of his chair and putting on his coat before Draco's even finished speaking but he should probably ask why. _Has something happened at the restaurant? Is someone hurt? Priya? Or Mr. Patel?_

"What's happened?”, Harry asks while his fingers are flying over the buttons on his coat. As much as he’s dreading the answer, he should know what they’re walking int--"I'm hungry, I haven't had breakfast today."

His hands stop on the buttons when the words sink in. Very slowly so he doesn't do something impulsive, he leans against his desk and says, "That's not an emergency."

Draco points at him accusingly, "You wish starvation upon me!"

_Merlin, how dramatic can one person be!_

One of these days, Harry's going to roll his eyes too hard and they're going to pop out of his head and roll around on the floor till someone accidentally crushes them under their feet.

"Fine, let's go." He concedes and yet his partner has some choice words for him.

“This is the least you can do after you left me stranded at the Quidditch Friendly.”

Harry snaps his head up to look at the git disbelievingly. That was ages ago and he had fooled himself into thinking that Draco’s gotten over it. Clearly not.

Still, he tries. "I've said sorry five times.”

"You haven't even begun to pay for it yet." The git doesn’t even wait for him to follow, and walks out the door.

No one brings up last night’s game.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howzat?!
> 
>  
> 
> PS - That Lone Wolf thing was so fucking perfect, Castle totally owned that scene and so would Draco, let's be honest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the fake relationship part of this fic.
> 
> 1\. I'd like to once again mention that there will be instances in this that are inspired by Castle. 2. When I say Fred, I mean George's son Fred who is close to Teddy in age. 3. I have never been to England let alone Regent's Park so it's all my imagination.

About two weeks after the whole _Fred egging Teddy on to steal money from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes_ episode, Harry asks Andromeda if he can take Teddy with him for a day out.

“I think that’s a great idea, Harry! He has been feeling a little under the weather”, she says while looking at him with grateful eyes.

Harry smiles in response, he has always said that he wants to be very involved in his godson’s life. And after that whole train wreck, he should make an extra effort. “I think I’ll take him to Regent’s Park, we haven’t been for a while and he really likes it there.”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea, my dear! He really did like it there, kept telling everyone about the zoo and the Rose Garden. Yes, I think he would love to go.”

“That’s settled then, I’ll come by tomorrow around 10 and then we’ll go.”

Regent’s Park is as beautiful as he remembers it. Even with all the tourists around, milling about all over the place, he can’t help but get lost in the overwhelming beauty of the place.

Teddy’s little hand is clutched in his own as they walk toward the Rose Garden. He’s almost skipping in joy beside Harry, excitedly going on and on about the zoo and the new chimp they have visiting from Saharan Africa. “He’s supposed to be here for just two weeks, Harry! I’m so happy we came today, I can get a photo of him and show Draco and everyone else!”

Harry just smiles at the boy whose hair has been black to match Harry’s ever since he told him about the trip. As they get closer to the gardens and the sea of multicoloured roses becomes visible, Teddy yanks on Harry’s hand and looks up at him curiously.

“Yes, Teddy?”, he asks, sensing a little hesitation from the boy.

“Grandma says Aunty ‘Cissa had a big rose garden at her home, but when I asked if I could go see it, she didn’t say anything.” His little face is turned up toward Harry, eyebrows arched in silent question.

“Well, that’s because no one lives in that house anymore. Mrs. Malfoy lives with you guys and Draco lives in a flat, so the house is empty.”

He really hopes that the beautifully sprawling gardens will distract Teddy from questions about Malfoy Manor. He’s not sure he wants Teddy to ever see the Manor; restored as it is, it’s still a reminder of death and pain.

Seeing as how he’s a child - a child with a bone to pick, no less - he doesn’t relent. Even as they’re walking through rows of snow-white roses, Teddy’s completely distracted. After a few minutes of tense silence, he looks up at Harry and says, “But she goes to live there sometimes, and I was just asking if I could go with her one time. She has a few photos of the gardens from before, they looked really pretty. And did you know, there were peacocks there too? White ones!”

Harry doesn’t have the heart to tell him what became of the peacocks under the reign of Voldemort. He really doesn’t want to explain how the Manor has become a shell of its former glory now that Narcissa is the only one who goes there for a few weeks a year. It’s amazing what one man can do to a family home that’d been standing proud for twelve generations, according to Draco.  

Instead, he says: “It was pretty, but that was before the war. Now, it’s mostly locked up. Narcissa only uses one floor, I think. And the gardens are gone, so are the peacocks. Sorry, mate.”

He looks genuinely sad so Harry offers to take him to Holland Park in West London, where they’ve got loads of peacocks. That seems to cheer him up a bit, and when he finally pays attention to his surroundings and sees the rows upon rows of roses, he’s pulling his hand out of Harry’s and running toward the purple rose bushes up ahead - all thoughts of Malfoy Manor long forgotten.

Harry shakes his head at his godson and his easily excitable ways, and follows after him.

“It smells so nice here, Harry! I’m going to ask Auntie ‘Cissa to plant roses at our house.”

Harry nods at him and agrees, “I think she’ll really like that.”

Teddy’s kneeling in front of the purple roses and about to reach out to touch them so Harry warns him, “Be careful, they’ve got thorns.”

He rolls his eyes at Harry like he can’t believe Harry would need to point out something so obvious. It leaves him hiding a smile behind his hand, and sharing a look with another parent who smiles back at him.

“Kids”, she mouths at him and Harry awkwardly nods in agreement. 

After that, it’s a slow day as Teddy gets increasingly excited and ready to go to the zoo. Once there, Harry’s enjoying as much as his godson. 

His younger self would be envious of twenty-four year old Harry, he thinks. That boy in the cupboard would’ve given anything to be here at the zoo, away from the Dursleys and just enjoying himself.

Shaking off the maudlin thoughts, he follows Teddy over to the chimpanzee and can’t help but laugh at the way Teddy’s eyes light up and how when he starts jumping up and down, the chimp copies his every move.

Amidst the excitement, his eyes widen in alarm when he notices Teddy’s hair changing colour so he rushes forward and covers his head with a hat he’d brought along just in case. He’s sure the Ministry wouldn’t be too keen on a child metamorphosing at the London Zoo, surrounded by hundreds of muggles.

Other than that minor slip-up, it’s a wonderful day and he’s glad he took time out and thought to do this.

After completely exhausting himself at the zoo, Teddy’s slumped over in the grass on Primrose Hill. They’re both laying down and watching the blue sky, a subtle breeze making the clouds move around.

Teddy’s quiet beside him, and Harry knows from his exhausted silence that he's really enjoyed the day out. He knows that if he just lets it be, his godson will be happy with today. 

But he’s got something on his mind, and he wants to share it. So, he takes a deep breath and says, “Y’know, your dad and mine were mates at Hogwarts.”

Teddy’s head snaps around to look at Harry, his eyes wide in shock. Harry’s not sure what he’s shocked about - what he’s just been told or the fact that Harry’s brought up his dad.

He continues, “They were. There were four of them - my dad, your dad, Sirius who was my godfather, and Peter. They were very smart and very naughty. Together, they made this map of Hogwarts - you can look at it and see where everyone is in the castle. Every single person!”

Teddy’s face is alight with excitement, he looks like he’s absorbing every word out of Harry’s mouth. In an amazed voice, he asks: “They did?”

Harry nods at him and turns to look back up at the sky. He’s mentally sifting through things to see what else he can share without bringing too much pain. 

“Yeah. They called themselves ‘The Marauders’. My dad, James Potter, was a seeker for Gryffindor and people say he used to think that he could do anything”, he stops to catch his breath.

It’s been years since he’d talked to anyone who knew his parents and asked them anything and everything they could remember. And it’s still too much to think about, most days.

“And your dad, he was a genius according to people. He was the brains behind the map, I think. And he was a really nice person, very warm. He taught me at Hogwarts, for a year, and he was my favourite teacher.”

Teddy’s quietly absorbing the information, and Harry can see himself in him. He looked just like that, he reckons, when someone was telling him about his parents.

Reaching out, he takes Teddy’s little hand in his and squeezes before continuing, “And your mum was amazing, I didn’t know her as much as your dad but we were always so amazed when she was around. She’d make her face morph into a pig’s and we’d all be on the floor laughing - Ron, I, Ginny - all of us. And she was brave. She loved your father very much and she fought alongside him till she could. You should be proud of your parents.”

His voice cracks over the last few words, he takes a deep breath and gives Teddy some time to think. They’re both quiet for a while, sounds of children laughing and dogs barking surround them as they lay there lost in the memories of their parents.

After about ten minutes, Teddy’s unsure voice calls his name, “Harry?”

He looks at his godson, dreading more questions but ready to answer them anyway, “Yeah?”

“Thank you”, he says in a quiet voice and Harry just pulls him into a hug.

They will be fine.

***

Mother wants to see him happy. 

Mother wants to see him married. 

"I--what?”

"Draco, I want you to have a happy life."

"So do I but what's that have to do with this madness?”

"You will be happy with a companion, someone to share your life with.”

"That is a huge leap, mother. And quite honestly, I don't see the connection between those two things.”

"I do, and I am far more experienced than you are in matters of the heart."

He has no control over the unbecoming scoffing sound he makes at that exclamation: "Matters of the what now?”

"Harry Potter.”

His eyes widen in alarm at the very clear insinuation, and a wild panic grips his heart in a crushing vice. There is no point in denying it or playing the fool because they both know that she's won this.

"Please stop."

"I haven't even started yet, Draco.”

Narcissa Malfoy smirks in a truly predatory way, and if he wasn't her son he'd be running for his life right about now. Actually, maybe he should run regardless.

From somewhere a bout of courage appears, and away goes his sense of self-preservation. It's the probably all the time he's been spending with the Boy Who Lived To Make Stupid and Rash Decisions.

And in a moment of sheer insanity, he questions his mother: "Are you blackmailing me?"

_He might as well AK himself, to save her the trouble._

"I call it motherly love."

"The Ministry calls it unlawful coercion."

"It's a good thing I'm not dealing with the Ministry then, just my son.”

Groaning, he plops down on the sofa beside her.

"Sit properly, Draco."

"Why? So I can be the perfect pureblood groom for some arranged marriage?"

"If you don't find someone for yourself, I will."

Panicking and feeling helpless is not a good combination. Case in point: he ends up with his head in mother's lap, her fingers carding through his hair.

It's comfortable, laying here like this. He used to do this as a child, and it'd be the only time he could show affection without father giving him a lecture about controlling your emotions before they control you, and behaving like a Malfoy.

After father was gone, the two of them rediscovered the fraying intimacy of their relationship. She is a lot more sanguine now, and much more carefree with her son.

And he, well, he's lying with his head in her lap.

"Why are you doing this, mother?"

"For you, darling. Of course."

"This is not the kind of thing a mum should do for her son."

"Oh?"

Moving his head about so he can look up at her properly, he says: "If you want to gift me new robes or perhaps a free holiday somewhere sunny, that'd make me happy."

"Yes, but that's for the short term. I want to make sure that you'll have someone after I am gone."

"That's very morbid, and I don't need anyone.”

"Shall I tell Mr. Potter you feel this way? So he can be free to find someone else for himself? Since _you_ don't need him.”

"You wouldn't!”

"Wouldn't I?”

_Oh for Salazar's sake!_

He will never win this argument, maybe it's time to change the tactic.  

"So as I understand it, you are willing to make your son lose his partner and possibly his best friend by interfering in a private matter?" 

"I wouldn't need to interfere if you'd just admit how you feel."

"And if I don't?"

"I might be tempted to invite Mr. Potter for tea. Or I might ask Dromeda if she knows any eligible young men for my son."

"Aaaarrgggh!"

"Please don't make undignified sounds, Draco. Use your words."

Getting off the sofa, he straightens his clothes and leans down to kiss her cheek. 

"Goodnight, mother."

***

If he had hoped that Narcissa Malfoy would change her mind next morning, and leave this blackmailing madness in the dark of the night, well he was wrong.

She'd not-so-subtly brought it up over breakfast and he's been boiling over with rage ever since.

"What's wrong with you?”, Harry finally asks after putting up with his grunting and groaning for a full hour.

He turns in his chair to face his partner, his metaphorical cloud of doom and gloom shifting with him. If he could be bothered, he'd start slowly and build up to it but he really can't be bothered.

"Mother wants me to get married."

Okay, he does realize that that's a very huge bomb to drop in the middle of casual conversation with no warm-up but still, he hadn’t expected to see Harry spray his whole desk with tea, coughing like he's been choked within an inch of his life.

While his partner struggles to breathe, Draco sighs and leans on his desk with his chin resting on his folded arms.

Harry finally stops coughing but his voice is rough when he nearly shrieks, "You what?!"

"She wants to see me happy so I must get married.” He rests his forehead on his folded arms, and stares at the floor from the gap between the desk and his arms.

Harry's feet appear in his sight so he looks up to find the Chosen One standing beside his desk with eyes blown wide in shock.

"And you said yes?"

"What other choice do I have?"

Harry’s mouth falls open and he does a brilliant impression of a fish out of water for a bit before finally speaking, “But you can't! Tell her you don't want to get married!”

Maybe he's enjoying this panicked rambling of the Saviour so maybe he'll have a little fun with it. "She won't listen, Harry. I have to get married, there is no other option."

His eyes widen even more and he pulls up a chair beside Draco like they're about to strategize for a raid. On the inside, Draco's laughing at the alarm and panic in those green eyes but there's also a smidge of hope buried under layers of denial.

Then, Harry crushes the hope as his hand comes down on the desk with a loud bang. "What if you told her you already had a partner? We'll find someone who can pretend to be with you."

_Oops._

He should start backpedaling now.

"I don't know, Harry. It seems like a lot of work for--”

"Lot of work? Do you even realise what will happen if she arranges a marriage for you? You'll be stuck for life!"

"Oh well, it’s not that--"

" _Oh well_?! Draco! Have you lost your mind?”

"Possibly.” Maybe, he should end this now. It feels like it's gone too far. “It’s fine, there’s no need to--”

"Look, we'll sort this out. I know someone who can help."

"Who?", he asks curiously-- _Circe, why did he say that? He should be ending this little skit now instead of digging himself a bigger hole._

"Mate of mine, he--well, he's a good actor."

Suspicion slowly creeps in on the amusement and curiosity, "And I need a good actor, why?"

"To be your boyfriend in front of Narcissa so she won’t force you to marry a complete stranger who’s probably a posh, pure-blood, stuck-up twat!"

This has escalated rather quickly, he thinks.

He was mildly panicking five minutes ago about his mother telling Harry about Draco's feelings. And now, Harry's putting on his coat to go and meet this friend who's going to pretend to be dating Draco.

"Harry, it's not that big of a dea--"

"Wake up, Draco!” He’s cut off as Harry walks over to him and shakes him like he’s trying to physically knock some sense into him. “She's going to make you marry someone you don't love!”

"No, she's just..."

Well, he can't just say that she's going to tell you that I've gone and fallen for you.

"She's what?"

_Salazar, what's he gotten himself into?_

"Draco?"

He looks up to find Harry standing there with his coat on, ready to go meet this friend.

He can either tell Harry why mother is blackmailing him and how he feels and risk everything he's got, or he can dig himself a deeper grave than he already has.

"Okay, let's go meet your friend."

_Coffin, here I come!_

***

"Draco, this is Sebastian. Seb, this is Draco.”

"Harry, you didn't tell me he was well fit!”

And that's the moment Harry regrets introducing Sebastian to Draco.

Of course, he laughs it off when Sebastian winks at him and then reaches out to shake Draco's hand, but on the inside he's regretting it.

Mostly because Sebastian has never wanted someone and not had them.

The thought of Draco and Sebastian makes him want to gouge his eyes out with his bare hands. No big deal.

"Harry?”

Draco's looking at him curiously and maybe, just maybe, for the last five minutes Harry's been mentally plotting how to get rid of Sebastian. No one can prove anything.

"Yeah?"

Sebastian leans over and puts his arm around Draco's shoulder--Harry could stab him with that little knife on the shelf--and smiles conspiratorially at Harry.

"I think Draco and I can get along very well."

"Oh good." He could take a run at Sebastian and bodyslam him into the concrete floor-- _what are you doing? You asked him for help, he's helping you!_

But I didn't ask him to hit on Draco!

_That's got nothing to do with you!_

Whaa--His inner monologue gets interrupted by Sebastian saying something about meeting Narcissa, “--the woman who sired you. I'm sure I could handle it."

Draco snorts at the confident exclamation, "Actually, no offence, but she would have you for breakfast.”

Even still, he doesn't step away or shrug Sebastian's arm off. He never stands that close to Harry.

_Are you out of your mind? Why are you acting like a jealous twat after_ you _asked him_   _for help?_

He looks up to find Draco and Sebastian laughing over something like they've been best mates for years and have inside jokes.

Oh, Harry regrets this.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that, then? Excited for Sebastian and Draco?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we delve deeper into fake relationship territory. 
> 
> Once again, there are things in this going back to Castle and they're here because I loved them and saw them as something Draco or Harry would say. Due credit to the people who write on Castle, brilliant one-liners all round! The red wine joke is a Danny Bhoy classic, and if you don't know who that is, google it now.
> 
> ***** - flashback

He regrets it all the way into next week, as they run around chasing petty criminals and get even more buried under Ministry paperwork.

On Thursday, a person is found with his body badly cut up and internal organs missing. Draco takes one look at the body and says, “Someone hated his guts.”

Even the medical examiner bursts out laughing - in the middle of performing diagnostic spells, no less - and then they all just avoid eye contact after that very awkward break in professionalism. Harry can’t even bring himself to look at Draco.

It’s part fear that he’ll look at his partner and start laughing again, and part fear that he’ll remember the whole Sebastian situation and do something he’ll later regret that keeps him from looking at the git.

So, he stays focused on the dead body and doesn’t bicker with Draco.

Even Smith notices the change, and unlike everyone else who values their life, he points it out. In a packed lift. Loudly.

“What’s the matter, Potter? You and the missus have a domestic?”

Harry doesn’t even get a chance to make a sound before Draco pushes him out of the way with a hand on his chest and moves closer to Smith, in the still packed lift. It seems that everyone is holding their breath, till Draco leans in and whispers something in Smith’s ear.

Zacharias’ smile falls off his lips, and he turns alarmingly pale at whatever Draco has said to him.

And Draco doesn’t bother saying anything else, doesn’t bother telling Harry what he’s said and just saunters out of the lift when it gets to their level like he owns the Ministry.

***

Harry’s asked him six times now what he said to Smith, but Draco has ignored him every time. Instead of answering, he has looked away and just pretended that he couldn’t hear Harry from two feet away.

It’s a long day as they work their way through witness statements that the Patrol Department has collected since the body was found. And it’s a lot of statements so by the time everyone starts packing up to go home, they haven’t found a single lead.

He and Draco share one look and they know tonight’s going to be spent on this case so no point in stalling. They dive in as the sounds of everyone else packing and going home echo around the Ministry.

Some time later, Robards knocks on the door and tells them to go home and come back fresh minded tomorrow. As soon as he says goodnight and walks away, Harry offers his flat and Draco offers to get take-away and meet him there in half an hour.

At least this part of their partnership hasn’t changed, he thinks picking up the giant pile of clothes from the sofa and throwing it off on his bed, away from being noticed.

Draco comes over ten minutes later, carrying bags of curry from the smell of it. They get settled on the sofa, containers spread over the coffee table and files scattered on the floor.

Just as Harry’s about to taste the curry, Draco turns to him and asks: “What’s the red wine?”

He wants to hit his partner in the face for waiting till he was sat down and ready to eat to ask after wine. Of course, Harry knows what he’s talking about and of course, he sighs and puts the spoon down into the takeaway container. Draco can’t live without wine, and because he eats enough of his meals at Harry’s, there is always a bottle of wine in the pantry for him.

As much as Harry isn’t a fan of the drink, he makes sure there’s at least one red and one white tucked away in his kitchen. Dusting off his trousers as he gets up to fetch the red, he almost kicks Draco in the leg but resists.

On his way back, he looks down at the label and instead of reading the name off it, goes: “Let me check. Uh, 14%.”

If they weren’t dead tired, he’s sure that Draco would hex him for that terrible joke. As it is, they’re both exhausted and a look of mutual understanding passes between them before they dig into the food silently.

Two hours later, when Harry’s almost fallen asleep right there on the floor, he feels a finger digging into his arm and he jerks awake, “Huh, what? What’s happened?”

Draco’s sitting cross-legged beside him, socked feet poking out from under long legs and his shoes sit neatly beside the sofa. _Wait, why is Harry staring at Draco’s shoes again?_

Refocusing, he finds his partner looking a minute away from passing out.

Yawning, Harry brings his hand to cover his mouth and asks, “What time’s it?”

Draco looks down at his wristwatch that Harry had bought him as the last muggle present. “Half-four.”

Harry nods, yawning once again, and points toward the sofa. “Okay, you catch a nap, I’ll look at the rest.”

“No need, I solved it.”

His head snaps around to find Draco smiling at him, “You did?”

“Yup, it’s the son-in-law.”

Even when he’s biting down on a yawn, he looks elegant and beautiful---okay, Harry needs to wake up now and come back to the land of reality.

Clearing his throat - and more importantly his mind - he asks, “How’d you know?”

“Facts: Son-in-law is the sole beneficiary of the will. Son-in-law seemed to respect and love the victim except for one tiny little detail.” He holds up his index finger, commanding all of Harry’s attention as if he didn’t already have it.

“A witness that Patrol talked to mentioned a loud argument two days ago and when I checked the financials, I found a large withdrawal from the company account. Same amount deposited into son-in-law’s account broken down over two days. In fact, I only looked into it because we put a surveillance charm on all the family accounts and his pinged when he made the deposit at 3 am today.”

Harry nods, brain sleepily sorting through the information and stumbling through possible explanations as to why someone would deposit money into their account at three in the morning.

Draco’s hand touching his elbow brings him out of the half haze, and he continues to speak: “Oh, also he was lying about his past. Turns out, he used to be a butcher in Scotland before moving to England under an alias, explains the state of the body.”

Harry can’t really grasp the whole meaning and significance of all this, with sleep making him near inept. He’s sure Draco looking all sleepy and soft in his flat is not helping either.

“Okay, well--let’s send a note into the Ministry, the back shift can pick him up.”

Usually, Draco would argue and insist that they go--hell, usually Harry wouldn’t even give him the option, but they’ve both been up for far longer than Robards would allow for aurors prior to an arrest so he does offer and Draco does agree. They don’t want a callous murderer to walk because of some technicality that Robards would have their skin over.

And once they’ve got confirmation that the son-in-law’s been arrested, they both feel the bone deep exhaustion take over.

Harry turns around from the floo to find Draco lacing his shoes and in a moment of sheer idiocy blurts out, “What’re you doing?”

Draco looks up from his shoes, a single eyebrow raised and goes, “Knitting you a frock, what do you think?”

Harry rolls his eyes, and plops down on the sofa beside his partner.

“No, I meant--why are you lacing your shoes?”

“Potter, I know you haven’t been introduced to decent footwear yet and that your sneakers are very ‘on the go’ but you see, the purpose of laces is---”  
God, he can’t believe that even when he’s about to drop dead of exhaustion, this git can be sarcastic. “Shut up.”

He does, shuts right up and looks at Harry with a questioning face.

“Sleep here on the sofa, I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow.”

Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t ask it as a question and makes it sound like an order that he doesn’t get any backtalk from the master of backtalk.

Or maybe Draco’s genuinely too tired to argue.

And he’s already asleep when Harry gets back with the pillow and blanket, shoes tucked underneath the sofa.

***

He and Draco agree that they can’t send Sebastian into the battlefield unarmed and unprepared. Meaning, they can’t let him meet Narcissa without preparing him for a Malfoy-style inquisition.

Sebastian seems to be taking this like a joke; he’s laughing and making faces at Harry behind Draco’s back who is nervously pacing the length of Sebastian’s shop and rambling on and on about his mother and her uncanny ability to smell bullshit from miles away.

“--that time she knew exactly what I was doing without even asking me anything. She just took one look at me and knew that I was lying about what had happened at work. One look!”

Draco stops his pacing, turns abruptly and looks at the two of them; his grey eyes widen in panic as he points at Sebastian. “She’s going to know the moment you walk through the door. And then, she’s going to AK me for trying to fool her. She’s going to marry me off to som--”

Harry is rushing off the sofa and over to Draco, purely on instinct, and definitely before he’s had a chance to think what he’s doing. “Hey, it’s fine.”

Draco leans into his touch a little. “She’s not going to AK anyone, just--”

“Stop coddling me, Harry! She is going to kill us all.” His eyes show genuine fear, and Harry wants to pull him close to himself, and hold him.

Merlin, if only Draco felt the same way! Then, they wouldn’t have to do any of this, Harry would barge into the Manor right this minute and tell Narcissa to back off. Well, not really tell her off; he’d probably ask her nicely and then beg her to not marry off her son--

“Harry?!”

He blinks away the daydream to find Sebastian standing beside him, shaking his shoulder. Draco wriggles out of his grip and moves away from them both without a word, still mumbling about his mother.

“Harry, just how bad is it going to be, mate?” Sebastian seems to be taking this a little more seriously now, his eyes are wide in alarm.

“Well, she’s going to interrogate you about Draco so you need to know everything”, Harry says in what he hopes is a reassuring tone.

“Everything?!”, comes the panicked response. Maybe not so reassuring, after all.

He sighs and thinks about what he should say. “I mean the things a partner would know, like what’s his favourite food, favourite ice-cream flavour, favourite book, favourite time of day and all that.”

Sebastian looks worried, looks like he’s about to say no to the whole thing. Harry wouldn’t really be disappointed if he does, to be honest.

“What? That’s too much, we’ve said we just started going out. She wouldn’t expect me to know all that right away!”, says Sebastian.

Harry bites his lip to stop himself from saying something he can’t take back and instead settles for: “I think it’s really basic information that someone who spends time with him would know.”

“So you’re telling me you know the answers to all those questions?”

Sebastian’s looking at him with raised eyebrows. He expects Harry to concede, as if this is a competition and Harry’s the one he’s going up against.

And in true Gryffindor fashion, Harry announces, “I do.”

He sees Draco watching him from the other side of the room, and it’s one of those moments where he knows he should look away but he doesn’t. Neither does Draco.

“Really?”, Sebastian challenges.

Well, challenge accepted.

Without tearing his eyes away from the gray ones staring back, Harry starts: “Favourite food: shahi paneer - that’s cottage cheese curry; ice cream: tutti frutti but also butterscotch; favourite book is from a muggle author Jeffrey Archer; and favourite time of day is evening especially in the summers. Oh and favourite place, that small town in the south of Ireland - I can never remember the name.”

He finds both of them staring at him as if he’s grown two extra heads. 

A long moment of silence stretches out around them, and Harry has to look away then.

“What?”, he asks timidly, eyes flitting towards his partner again.

Sebastian turns to Draco and says, “That can’t all be right.”

Draco doesn’t take his eyes off Harry, he just nods. “It is.”

Harry leaves soon after that, making an excuse about going to see Teddy. Draco doesn’t say anything, probably because of Sebastian but likely not, and Sebastian waves him off with a somewhat worried expression.

He goes over to Hermione’s to distract himself from the hole he, himself, has dug. A hole named Sebastian.

***

"Mother, I'd like you to meet Sebastian."

Narcissa Malfoy is the very picture of sophistication, She has been a Malfoy for three decades and a Black before that. If there was anyone in wizarding England who Draco would call refined and elegant beyond comparison, it’s her.

And a lady never betrays what she is thinking or feeling. Which is why Draco is taken aback when mother's eyes widen and she has to take a moment to compose herself before she smiles at Sebastian.

Of course, Sebastian doesn't notice this. Draco doubts anyone would notice but he's always seen mother perfectly composed, never letting any emotion leak through the mask of perfect civility so it definitely registers in his mind.

She must be really surprised for that to have happened, he reckons. She must be shocked that Draco hasn't brought Harry to her.

"You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Malfoy. I mean it's a mansion more than a home, really. But truly impressive.”

She smiles at him again and offers her arm so they can walk into the tea room together, her eyes purposefully set on Sebastian’s face as he steps forward and takes her offered arm.

_Oh Merlin, what has he done?_

The party has settled in the tea-room, where a full service was already waiting for them. Draco is sat on the plush sofa to the right of the fireplace, while Sebastian and mother have both chosen the black chaise sofa.

"So where are you from, Mr. Rogers? If you wouldn't mind me asking."

"Oh, not at all. I'm originally from Brooklyn, in the States." He sounds like he’ll be fine, or at least Draco hopes so.

"I see, quite far from home then."

“Well, this is home more than anything. I always did want to come to England so I don't really mind the distance.”

"And how do you like it here?"

"Well, I've been here about five years now and it's been perfect so far."

"Five years? Oh, lovely. So, how did you meet my son?"

Draco wants to dig a grave and just jump into it now. He can feel them both looking at him but he's single-mindedly making himself a cup of tea.

"Well, Harry introduced us."

_Circe._

"Oh, did he now?"

Sensing his mother's piercing gaze on him, he looks up to find her staring. There is a challenge in the gray eyes, an unspoken dare.

A shiver runs down Draco’s spine, leaving him struggling to catch his breath.

"I manage my own bookstore on Diagon and Harry came in about three years ago, looking for an out-of-print book for a mate. And we've been good friends since then. He's an absolute riot."

She smiles at Sebastian and points toward the tea service on the table.

While Sebastian's making himself a cup of tea, she looks straight at Draco while answering, “Yes, I have had the pleasure of Mr. Potter's company a few times. He is quite something."

The experience of watching your mother praising the man you are secretly in love with in front of the man you are pretending to be dating for her sake while she stares you down in challenge is quite extraordinary.

"Actually, he told me that you saved his life a few years ago.”

They both turn to look at Sebastian in shock, but he's busy piling up sugar in his teacup and doesn't notice the general sense of panic exuding from the Malfoys.  
"He did?", mother asks in her delicate voice, a great deal of curiosity lurking underneath.

"Oh yes, I don't know the details but last year, I think, we were talking about the lack of maternal figures in our lives and he was saying how his best friend's mother has been caring for him since he was little - Mrs. Weasley, she’s such a sweet lady - and how the headmistress at Hogwarts looked out for him. And then he mentioned that you had saved his life during the war. That's all he said about it but he definitely considers you a big influence."

As much as Draco wants to squawk at this revelation, he doesn't.

Instead, he silently sips his tea and watches as mother quietly contemplates the meaning of all this, hidden behind the fog from her own tea.

Sebastian, obviously, has no such contemplation to occupy him so he is free to enjoy his tea and his visit, and to ask idiotic questions, apparently.

"Mrs. Malfoy, if you don't mind me asking, do you live here alone?"

She shoots Draco a quick glance before answering. “I live with my sister and her grandson, actually. The Manor is empty most of the year but I do like to come here for a few weeks. It is the family home, after all.”

"Right. Oh, wait--your sister's grandson is Teddy, right?”

Draco can see all this unravelling really quickly. He'd had no idea that Sebastian was this involved in Harry's life and by extension, Draco's. Merlin, if he says something wrong--

"You know Teddy as well?", there’s a hint of a smirk in her voice and Draco feels like they’re on the edge of a sharp and unforgiving knife.

Sebastian, ignorant to all this, nods and enthusiastically explains his involvement with Teddy: “I've only met him a few times. Harry brings him to the shop sometimes, he really likes books. He's a great kid!"

"That he is. Pardon me, Mr. Rogers, I hadn't realized that you were that well acquainted with Mr. Potter. Quite a coincidence that you and Draco just met after we've been talking about him getting married. And you decided to--how shall I say this, pursue my son."

He can see Sebastian's dwindling confidence even from here, not that he blames Sebastian, anyone would be sweating under his mother's sharp gaze and sharper words.

"Oh well, it was a chance meeting, for sure. Harry needed help with something and since he was working, he brought Draco along. What can I say, your son is very striking.”

Draco can’t help the heat spreading across his cheeks at those words and the feeling of Sebastian’s eyes on him. Merlin, he must be looking like a blushing maiden!

Mother interrupts his embarrassing descent into embarrassment tinted interest with a very pointy remark: "Even so, this is a very timely development.”

An awkward silence fills the room as they all drink their tea and avoid eye contact.

_She knows_ , Sebastian mouths at him.

On the inside, he's thinking: Of course she knows; she's always known. She knows that I'm arse over tits for Harry, she knows that I won't tell him that, she knows that this is all a pretense, and she knows that it's for Harry. Because Salazar help him, he isn't pretending to date Sebastian for his mother, it's for Harry.

But he can't very well admit that so he just nods reassuringly at Sebastian.

_Circe, this is a disaster._

"So, Mr. Rogers, how is Mr. Potter? You've seen him recently, you said."

Sebastian's eyes widen in panic but he recovers soon, "He's alright, doing good."

“That's good. Any romantic liaisons in his life?”

Draco chokes on his tea.

It is utterly unbecoming, and he wants to disapparate out of sheer shame. But that would be extremely rude and mother would probably make his guts into garters so he stays put. After a thorough cleaning spell and a good cough, he's back to normal.

Once she’s enquired after the state of son’s lungs, Narcissa Malfoy sips from her tea cup and turns to Sebastian with a small smile. "Well, we were talking about Mr. Potter's romantic endeavours. Has he any?"

Sebastian looks at him wide-eyed because he's probably not sure why he's being asked this question and what he can say but Draco can see what she's doing and he really can't let Harry find out about his little crush through Sebastian and his mother's stubbornness.

“Uh, he's n--”

“Harry is seeing someone!”

He regrets them the second the words are out of his mouth.

She turns to face Draco, fierce eyes staring right through him as she asks, “Who might that be?”

_Circe, what is he doing?_

“Wood! He's seeing Oliver Wood.”

_Why would you say that? Why in Merlin's name would you say that?_

“Mr. Potter is involved with Oliver Wood? The quidditch player?”

Skepticism is practically dripping from her words, and if that wasn't enough, Sebastian's shocked exclamation of “He is??!” makes it all the worse.

_Well, in for a knut._

“They want to keep things private so it hasn’t been made public yet.”

Sebastian nods as if he genuinely believes that Harry is going out with Oliver Wood and hasn't told anyone because of their privacy.

Narcissa Malfoy looks distinctly disappointed in her son.

***

“I’m dating _who??!_ ”

“Oliver Wood.”

For a minute, he just looks at Draco with narrowed eyes as if he’s expecting this to be a joke. Draco goes along with it for a moment but when Harry doesn’t respond at all, he has to break the silence, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Well, she thinks you’re with Wood.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I told her.”

“And you’d do that because?”

“Because she put Sebastian on the spot about who you were seeing so I had to step in.”

“And you couldn’t just say I wasn’t with anyone?”

“I panicked, alright?”

“Right. So now I have to pretend to date Oliver? That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Just go along with it, okay?”

“Why though? Why does it matter who _I’m_ dating?”

“This was all your stupid idea anyway!”

“Oh so you’d rather marry some stranger? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m starting to think that would be preferable.”

And Harry deflates like a balloon.

And of course, that sight has a direct link to Draco’s heart which he feels breaking at the very sight in front of him so he sighs.

Harry looks at him for a second and then nods his head very determinedly, “I’m sorry, I just--of course, I’ll play along.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I mean, Oliver is a mate and a nice bloke. Still don’t understand how who I’m dating is relevant but I’ll do it.”

“Just--”

“It’ll be fine, Oliver and I get along well. As long as it’s just for your mother’s sake, we’ll be fine. It’s alright.”

As much as he silently nods and calmly agrees that it would be good, he is anything but calm as he walks into the men’s bathroom two minutes later. Locking the door behind him to make sure no one barges in, he goes to stand in front of the mirror and looks at himself.

Oddly, it feels like he’s back at Hogwarts. Feels like he’s gotten himself trapped into something beyond his grasp and like he can’t do anything to stop everything from falling apart around him. Everything’s spinning out of control, things that are not supposed to happen are happening and he can’t make it all go back to normal.

Thankfully, there isn’t a noseless madman living in his house and holding his parents at wandpoint this time around.

But, unfortunately, Draco can’t do anything to get out of this bind just like last time.

So, he splashes water on his face and takes a few deep breaths. And when that doesn’t work, puts his fist through the wall.

Not that that gives him the sense of control that he so badly needs right now, but it does help in focusing his thoughts on work. So, he casts a healing charm on his bloody hand and leaves the bathroom feeling oddly calm.

*****

It’s been a few months since they’ve been working together, there’s even talk that they might get an office of their own if they keep working like they are - highest solve rate out of last year’s batch.

To be honest, Harry had never really expected them to last this long. He’d have put money down on one of them killing the other within the first month actually.

Surprisingly, no one’s dead despite the dozen times they’ve ended up duelling after torturous hours and days and sometimes even weeks of being at each other’s throats about something or the other. By now, Harry has identified a pattern.

It always starts out with one of them saying something derogatory about their Hogwarts house, which then turns into glaring matches while they’re interviewing a witness and quickly devolves into goading each other while they’re running down alleys and back roads chasing a suspect and then finally into either a fistfight or a duel by the time the case is being wrapped up.

Harry has it down to an art by now. He knows all of Malfoy’s tells, can read him almost as well as he can Ron and more than anything, can look at the pointy git and know just which buttons to push to get what reaction.

Now, he’s not admitting to provoking the git on purpose but he will say that it gets a bit boring after a while if they haven’t had a go at each other. He reckons Malfoy feels the same way because he is currently mouthing off about Gryffindorks and he knows how much Harry hates that word.

He also knows what’s coming next because he expertly ducks under Harry’s swinging hand even though he wasn’t even looking at him. There’s a cocky smirk on his face and he’s still looking down at the pamphlet he’s been pretending to read for the last five minutes.

Harry pulls his hand back, takes a deep breath and goes back to ignoring his git of a partner as they wait for the Investigation crew to come out and tell them what’s going to happen with the wizard they arrested this morning.

He tries to sit still, tries to ignore the smirk still lurking on his partner’s face and fails miserably.

“Will you stop?!”, he snaps without any preamble.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the elderly witch sitting across the hall flinch at his sudden and very loud question. Harry looks up at her and smiles apologetically as the person the question was aimed at finally lowers the pamphlet and looks at him.

“Stop what?”, he asks in that posh voice of his. Oh, Harry wants to take another swing at him and his stupidly sharp jaw so so badly.

“You know what.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“So you’re saying you always grin like an idiot at nothing?”

He sniffs, the posh bastard, before straightening up and looking down at the pamphlet again. “If you must know, I was smiling about something in particular and not at nothing as you suggest.”

And anyone who even barely knows Harry, knows that he’s got a competitive streak ten kilometers long and will jump at any opportunity to argue, especially with one particular person. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Just thinking about a date I have this evening. It’s quite a catch, if I do admit it myself.”

“Someone’s going on a date with you?”, he says with a very clenched jaw, completely ignoring the sudden uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. And the urge to punch something.

Malfoy turns to him with a saccharine smile and says, “Oh, that’s so sweet of you, Potter. Always with the politeness.”

And that’s where this conversation can and should end, it’s a very natural conclusion. The witch across the hall seems to think so as she smiles at Draco before looking down at the newspaper in her lap.

Beside him, the git has decided on humming an old tune that Harry recognizes as something Molly hums under her breath while cooking. He pushes that out of his mind, and tries to go back to fiddling with his wand as he was before the Gryffindork comment but he can’t.

Something keeps niggling at the back of his mind, it doesn’t stop and it doesn’t go away even when Harry tries to focus on the light and dark streaks on his wand which has always helped him feel calm.

Before he even knows he’s speaking, he says: “So who is it with?”

From the way Malfoy looks up from his pamphlet and asks, “Hmm?”, it’s clear he wasn’t expecting Harry to speak either.  

Apparently, Harry’s mouth did not get the memo about shutting up at all. “Your date, who is it with?”

Draco’s eyebrows climb high on his forehead and there’s a smirk lingering there when he fully turns to face Harry. “Oh, are we doing _this_ now? This whole partner thing? Sharing details about our personal lives?”

He’s taunting Harry, teasing and mocking him with words and with his face. There’s a challenge in his eyes, in the curve of his mouth and his tilted chin and despite what people think, Harry’s good at knowing when to take up a challenge and when to walk away.

So he shrugs at his partner. “Just making conversation.”

He makes it a point to not look at the git, to not give him the satisfaction of winning this--whatever petty challenge this was. Instead, he picks up his wand and starts polishing it with the little square of silk he’s started keeping in his trousers pocket after the last time his wand malfunctioned because it needed a good polishing.

He’s sure he looks very absorbed in his task and not at all preoccupied but inside, there’s a knot of anxious curiosity sitting squarely in the middle of his chest. Inside, he’s pacing the floor with tight steps and wringing his hands in agitation.

He doesn’t know why.

_Well you do_ , a little voice in his head interrupts the blissful ignorance he was enjoying.

No, I don’t, he insists.

_Oh yes, you do_ , it insists right back.

I don--

“Well, if you must know, it’s Barnes I’m going out with.”

All his inner monologues and debates with himself skid to a stop when Malfoy’s voice registers. He’s answering Harry’s question. Once that realization comes, the name registers.

_But wait_ , that little voice says. _Barnes?_

Why… he starts to ask that voice but it interrupts him, _He’s a man - Barnes, the man from yesterday’s assignment. He’s going out with a man!_

It’s strange the way that realization is a shock and yet it feels like he’d known all along. It’s never come up before but Harry’s had his doubts.

_Yes, but now we know for sure!_

How is that important or relevant?, he asks himself.

_You know how_ , the sneaky little voice replies.

And no, he’s not ready to have this conversation with his own mind right now and right here. Just no.

He looks up to find Draco watching him with thinly concealed anticipation. Oh, he’s waiting for a reaction.

Harry doesn’t know what to say to this abrupt declaration of his partner’s romantic preferences so he says the first thing that comes to mind. “I thought he was flying back to America today.”

Draco’s still watching him like a hawk as he answers, “He told me this morning, he was caught up in a meeting. Said he was here for a few more days because of it.”

That knot in his chest tightens a little bit and his fingers grip the wand a little more firmly but he doubts that’s something Draco picks up on.

“You already spoke to him this morning.” He’d meant for it to be a question but it doesn’t come out as one, instead it sounds more like a statement. Like an accusatory statement.

“He sent me an owl.” Draco’s voice is defensive and Harry wonders why but he’s not about to admit it out loud so all that comes out is, “Oh.”

There’s a heavy silence that sits there for a moment as Harry considers why his brain had jumped to conclusions and why those conclusions had made him so uncomfortable--

“You thought he and I…”

Draco’s left it hanging but it’s pretty clear what he means, even the old lady across from them clears her throat and steals her eyes when Harry looks up at the sound.

“Well it’s obvious he’s interested. If he asked you out.” It’s too late, the words are out and so is the bitterness underneath; he can’t take them back now.

“So, what? You think I should pursue it?”

His partner seems to have picked up on the bitterness at least or else he’s genuinely asking for Harry’s opinion which they both know is not something that’s going to happen in a million years so the obvious conclusion is that he can tell that Harry’s bitter or uncomfortable about something.

And Harry’s not about to let him think he’s a homophobic arsehole so there’s only one answer to this question. “Well, suit yourself.”

He is going to sit here and ignore that knot that’s wound its way around his lungs and is making it hard to breathe. He’s also going to ignore the way his fingers are almost crushing his wand.

Draco scoffs beside him. “Of course, I will.”

And that’s the end of that conversation. An unnatural and abrupt end.

The witch gets up to speak to someone before they can and she shakes her head at Harry as she walks by them behind the officer. Harry has no idea why she did that, and he sure as hell doesn’t look up to check if Draco caught that too.

It’s just a casual chat he’s had with his partner just like any regular partners would discuss their personal lives with each other.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shall I start taking bets on how long it'll be before Harry takes out Sebastian? If I did, hypothetically, what would be your bet?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, ladies and gentlemen, buckle in. This one is going to be an extra long chapter. 
> 
> 1\. We finally get to see a flashback to Harry and Draco's first genuine conversation in this universe, the one that started this torturous yet beautiful partnership. I'm so excited for you all to finally read it!
> 
> 2\. One of youse who commented may be very good at legilimency and may have read my mind about what's coming in the next few chapters, that's all I'll say.
> 
> 3\. Wickers is a nod to Alfie Wickers from Bad Education.
> 
> 4\. We meet a beloved character, maybe someone some of you have been waiting for. 
> 
> ***** - flashback.

This whole Sebastian-Draco thing has been stretching out a bit and more than getting on his nerves but Harry really can’t keep dwelling on this temporary arrangement. He and Draco are partners and they are going to be partners long after this Sebastian fiasco is over. So, he really needn’t bother with this facade.

More importantly, the Ballycastle Bats are playing the Magpies on Saturday and Harry’s got two tickets for himself and Draco. Maybe if they go to this match, the git will stop bringing up the stupid Ministry friendly game Harry had missed ages ago.

After a quick trip to Hogwarts, he goes back to the office, having just gotten his tickets from Neville who'd bought them for him as soon as they went on sale. The slow pace of the Ministry is typical of a Friday afternoon, almost everyone is slumped over like dead bumblebees.

He can feel the procrastination and the laziness in the air as he walks through the Auror Department. All across the huge hall, people are quietly scribbling and/or staring at the clock as if that’ll make it go faster.

As he walks past Smith’s desk, Harry can see the git snoring on top of a mountain of paperwork. In a moment of irritation (mostly because he can still see Zacharias Smith pushing first years out of his way as he ran for safety during the war) Harry casts a stinging hex on his sleeping form and instantly, Smith jerks awake and hisses in pain.

Harry doesn’t bother hanging around and walks towards his office, pushing the door open with both hands. Draco's at his desk, leaning back in his chair and reading something. He yawns and looks up at Harry with raised eyebrows when he walks through the door.

"So, guess what I got us?”, says Harry with excitement bubbling just under the surface.

"Unless it's a paid holiday to New Zealand starting right this minute, I'm not interested."

"Don't be a twat. Just guess."

Draco rolls his eyes and looks back down to whatever he’s reading. "Knowing you, probably a Ministry invitation to some boring party or gala--"

"Tickets for quidditch tomorrow!”

Instead of smiling and falling at Harry's feet in gratitude, his face twists into an expression of unease. Before Harry can say anything, Draco leans forward in his chair, the sound of the front two legs hitting the floor is loud in the quiet room. Then, stealing his eyes from Harry, he asks: "Tomorrow?"

Harry just nods in response, suspicious of this development.

 _Maybe he's got plans_ , his brain supplies. _Yeah right!_

"Problem?”

Draco tosses the book on his desk and rakes a hand through his hair, his precious hair that he never touches lest a single strand move from its designated place.

Harry recognizes it for what it is: a stalling tactic.

And sure enough, the next words out of Draco’s mouth are: “Well, Sebastian and I are going to the British Museum for the new exhibit tomorrow."

"Oh?", is all he can manage at the moment as a thousand thoughts run errant through his mind.

"We were talking about a book he’d recently read about the French monarchy and then he mentioned the exhibit at the museum, and we decided we should go when we both have a day off."

Ignoring the sinking feeling in his chest, Harry turns his back to his partner to pull off his coat. Draco doesn’t add anything else, so he busies himself with hanging the coat up - the forgotten tickets smothered in the inside pocket.

With his back still to Draco, he casually asks, "When were you talking to Sebastian?” It’s just out of curiosity, he tells himself. Only so he knows what’s happening around him.

"Last night, over dinner. I got curry and I dropped by his shop on the way home, and he said he’d come along as he didn’t have any dinner plans.”

Last night, when Harry had offered to get takeout and Draco had told him he was planning on cooking.

He’s not bothered by any of this. It’s got nothing to do with him, _why should he be bothered?_

Still, he can’t not ask. “I thought you were cooking last night.”

Draco hasn’t noticed Harry’s unease, or he’s doing a very good job of hiding it. He leans far back in his chair, tipping it backwards on two legs and yawns once again.

He waves his hand in the air dismissively, eyes tracking Harry’s every movement across the room. “I was but then I stopped by at Priya’s on my way home and she gave me a curry for free.”

Rolling the right sleeve up to his elbow, he offers: “That’s nice of her.”

Draco’s still watching him keenly, and if Harry didn’t know better he’d think those gray eyes were stuck on his fingers rolling up the left sleeve. But he does know better and he does know that Draco’s just wool gathering as he shrugs and answers, “Well, it was something new that I hadn’t tried before. Not sure I’d get it again, it was alright.”

Harry goes over to his desk and opens up the unfinished report on the burglary they’d solved this morning. Draco doesn’t say anything else and Harry silently breathes through the discomfort taking root in his chest.

If he just sits here and doesn’t look at his partner, he’ll be alright.

He’s always been a shit liar.

***

When Draco says he can’t go to the match, Harry doesn’t want to go either. Quidditch is not fun when you’re alone, and everyone else probably has plans for Sunday.

Not that he has asked, but Harry knows that everyone must have plans. Well, to be fair, Ron would probably love to go or maybe even Dean.

Fine. Harry’ll send them an owl tomorrow and see if they want to go instead of him.

Just as he’s settling in for the night, the sound of an owl pecking at his window wakes him right up. Taking his glasses from the bedside table, he stumbles over to the window and finds a snow-white barn owl waiting for him.

It has a note attached to its leg and as Harry goes to retrieve the note, the owl lightly pecks at his fingers. Just for a second, it reminds him of Hedwig.

He shakes the nostalgia off and unties the note; the owl seems to sense the change in mood and pushes its head into Harry’s hand. Smiling, he pets the snowy white head a few times and offers two treats to the bird.

It looks at him with wide eyes after eating the treats and then flies into the flat and perches on top of the little table in the corner of the room, waiting for a return note. Harry closes the window to cut off the chilly draft pouring in and walks back to bed, fingers unfolding the letter as he goes.

_Harry,_

_Got your note this afternoon. I’d love to get together tomorrow, if you’re free. I’m between matches, so perfect timing. Lunch, maybe?_

_Oliver_

Oh, right. He had forgotten about writing to Oliver. After his heated discussion with Draco the other day, he had sent a note to his former skipper hoping that they could find time to meet, given that the league matches are well under way and Oliver’s probably busy training till he drops dead.

Well, looks like he’s caught Oliver at a good time. Usually, he wouldn’t even get a note back if Puddlemore was playing that week. The Keeper is an important part of a team and Harry’s sure Oliver, who bleeds Quidditch, wouldn’t even look at anything other than game plans before a United match.

But if he has replied and if he has time, then Harry’s sure that he would love to go see a match.

Quickly getting a pen out of his bedside drawer and a piece of parchment, he sends Oliver a note about the tickets he has. If he knows Oliver Wood at all, he’ll be delighted to go see the match even if it’s like a busman’s holiday.

He’s falling asleep before the owl has even reached Oliver.

***

As expected, Oliver had sent an owl this morning saying how excited he was to go see the match today. So Harry has a lazy lunch when he actually wakes up around noon and then gets ready to fly to the stadium.

He only thinks of Draco a few times like when they’re getting to their seats and Oliver doesn’t complain about how shit the view is, and when Oliver’s excitedly commenting on the teams’ tactics rather than calling the players idiots among other things, and when he doesn’t insult Harry for his poor choice in supporting the Cannons.

Ten minutes into the game, Harry spots Rita Skeeter trying to hide behind a burly man a few rows ahead while staring right at them. He nudges Oliver’s arm and nods toward her blonde hair peeking out from the ridiculous hat she’s wearing. She probably thinks she’s disguised herself.

“Ah, leave her, Harry. She’s probably looking for a story about how I’m here to spy on the Magpies.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”, he asks without really thinking about it first.

Oliver doesn’t seem to mind his curiosity though, he just shakes his head and looks back onto the pitch. 

“She might take photos though, make sure she’s got your good side.”

They laugh it off but just before the Magpies crush the Cannons, Harry can see a camera flashing off to the side. He reckons Skeeter thinks she’s being discreet, even though half the stadium can probably tell what she’s up to.

He hadn’t even realized how tense he is, till he feels Oliver’s hand on his shoulder. He leans in slowly and says, “Let her be, Harry. It’s not worth it.”

After the match is over, Oliver suggests going to a new tea shop style cafe that’s opened in Hogsmeade and apparently makes the best coffee. Harry, who only has an empty flat to go back to, readily agrees and off they go.

It is a genuinely nice place, the coffee looks very delicious and Oliver is good company. They’re mostly talking about the match and quidditch in general as the steam from the hot coffee slowly starts to wind down.

Somewhere along the way, they start reminiscing about the past, and about Hogwarts.

Across the table, Oliver sets his mug down and finds Harry’s eyes. “Remember during my last year, when all I cared about was winning the House Cup? I mean you fell fifty feet through the air and I was miffed about losing the match. I feel pretty guilty about that, by the way.”

“Don’t. We were kids and Quidditch meant a lot to all of us.”

Oliver shakes his head and says, “Quidditch really was everything back then, the House Cup was everything. God, we were so naive. Well, I was. You, not so much. I can’t imagine being thrown into a world you didn’t even know existed and then told there’s a madman trying to kill you. I suppose you had to grow up faster than others. But then, I do think you were always wise beyond your years.”

Harry can’t help but laugh at that. He can see Draco scoffing in disbelief if he heard Oliver say that about Harry. “Don’t know a lot of people who’d agree with that.”

“Ah, Malfoy?”, Oliver’s smiling slightly but Harry can see the question in his eyes.

“Among others, yeah.”

Oliver picks up his coffee and blows on it before taking a sip. His eyes slip closed as he savours the taste, and Harry remembers his own coffee and proceeds to burn his tongue on the scorching drink. Oliver just smirks at him and pushes a glass of water toward him.

Harry can sense something unsaid between them, and he’s pretty sure it’s about Draco but instead of asking he leaves it hanging for a minute or two.

Just as he’s about to bring it up, Oliver speaks: “I never really did get it, how you could forgive him just a few years after the war. I mean, now maybe, but back then? After all those years of his cruelty at Hogwarts. He was always looking to hurt others, you more than anyone.”

Harry shakes his head in response, “I didn’t forgive him, I just--I saw things about him that others didn’t. I mean, the war changed us all. Some more than others. And it wasn’t my place to forgive anyway, he’s responsible for his own actions.”

He sees a flash of an image from memory, an almost empty pub and Draco sitting across from him saying something about his choices in life--Oliver interrupts him with a question : “And does he think so?”

“He does. But like I said, it’s not my place to forgive.”

“See? Wise beyond your years.”

Harry still doesn’t agree with Oliver. If anything, he’s made a lot of mistakes and repeated them many times till he finally learned from them.

And then there’s the one mistake he’s made a hundred times and hasn’t learned anything from it.

_Falling for his partner, falling ever deeper every single day._

*****

The raid has finally been carried out after eleven hours of constant vigilance - Harry can hear Moody’s voice in his head, and that’s a sign that he needs sleep - and he and Malfoy have just been relieved of their duty.

In honour of their first mission going well, the other aurors had egged them on to go celebrate at the local pub. And given the tension filled silence of the last eleven hours, Harry just wants to apparate home and have a long sleep.

But then, he also knows that he and Malfoy will have to go on such missions dozens of times, and they can’t just sit in silence for hours on end. So, he asks one of the aurors where the local pub is and then offers to buy the first round.

Malfoy looks skeptical at the offer but the exhaustion etched in his features wins out in the end. He just resorts to making noises when they find the shabby little pub and go inside to see a few people asleep at the tables with their half-finished drinks laying beside their heads.

Harry gets them pints and joins Malfoy at the farthest table. The first few minutes are spent in that tense silence again before Harry takes a deep breath and decides to break it.

“So, how come you wanted to be an auror?”

And just like that, Malfoy’s defensive and ready to throw hexes. “What, you think I can’t be a good auror?”

“No. I didn’t say that. I just mean, with the whole self-preservation thing, y’know?”

He doesn’t say anything for a second, pale fingers tightening around the pint glass. Then, he looks out the window into the absolute darkness of the night and says, “I think my sense of self-preservation got squashed quite a long time ago.”

“Hmmm.”

At Harry’s sound of consideration, Malfoy looks away from the window and across the table, right at him. “What?”, he asks, that same defensiveness colouring his words.

“Nothing, I’m just thinking how much you’ve changed. From imitating Dementors to get me to fall off my broom, and teasing me about Sirius killing my parents, and siccing Snape on me to this.” He gestures between them to point out the surreality of them sitting at the same table, drinking and not killing each other.

“Yes, well.”

He’s looking down into his drink as if it’ll give him answers. Harry takes a quick sip of his own and says the first thing that comes to his mind, “You were such an insufferable git.”

Expecting a Malfoy™ blow-up, he’s surprised when all Malfoy does is smirk into his pint. Then, he looks up, gray eyes boring into Harry’s as he asks, “I was, wasn’t I?”

Harry feels some sort of pull, doesn’t know what it is or why it is but it is. It’s the first time that Malfoy’s looked right at him, just looked without it being because of a training exercise they’ve been forced to do or because of a prank he’s played at Hogwarts and is waiting to see Harry’s reaction or for any particular reason really, and it’s strangely gripping.

Forcing himself to look away, he simply says, “Yup.”

Malfoy leans back in his chair, but his eyes never leave Harry. All of a sudden, this feels like a confession. It feels like it’s more than what it is - a pint at the pub after work.

It feels like something too serious to be just a drink with one’s brand new partner. Feels like it’s been a long time coming.

Draco Malfoy speaks in a firm voice when he says, “Well, I hated you immensely.”

Something somewhere is coming undone. Years of antipathy and antagonism and tension and hatred and lies coming undone layer-by-layer in this abandoned pub in the middle of Scotland at two in the morning.

Harry feels like he’s on the verge of pulling off a stranger’s mask and being privy to things no one knows about the man sitting opposite him. It’s a weird sort of thrill, like a current of electricity is passing through his body sizzling the very blood in his veins.

Not taking his eyes off Malfoy, he asks: “Yeah? Why’s that?”

It isn’t supposed to sound provoking nor intense but it does. It sounds like he’s egging Malfoy on without even meaning to. And it feels like he’s in a furnace, surrounded by blazing fire.

Malfoy sighs and takes a sip of his drink before answering. 

“As a child, I’d always heard that you were the only thing standing in the way of the Dark Lord coming back. I thought you must be so powerful that you could beat Him. So, I wanted to be your friend, because I always thought I was powerful too. But when I offered you my friendship, you rejected it. So I rationalized that Father was right all along, and you were just a mild inconvenience. After that, I just wanted to hurt you.”

Harry can only nod along, “Right.” His own voice sounds like it’s far away, too mesmerized by something to really sound like himself.

“Well, I wanted to hurt everyone,", Malfoy continues, "wanted to prove to myself that people respected me like they did my father. By the time I realized that I was confusing fear with respect, it was too late. The war was starting and I had other things to worry about.”

_A scared boy, tasked with an impossible chore crying in front of a mirror and body trembling in fear as he lashes out at anything and everything around him._

Harry can only bring himself to say, “Yeah well, the war changed things for all of us.” 

Malfoy’s silent for a long minute. His pale face is half shadowed in the dimness of the pub and the half that isn’t, looks deep in thought.

Harry lifts his pint to his lips, takes a huge gulp. Maybe this wasn’t the best place or the best time to start picking at scabs.

“I used to enjoy it, y’know. Hurting people, hurting _you_ \- I used to get genuine enjoyment out of it. And that’s something I have to live with.”

Harry nods and drinks his pint, doesn’t try to say anything. Malfoy’s entire being is a metaphorical shield right now and Harry knows that anything he says will be unwelcome.

So they enjoy a quiet pint before Malfoy says something about the Puddlemore and Cannons match next week, and then they’re off arguing about quidditch.

“You always were shit at picking teams, Potter.”

“Oh, and you were so much better?”

*****

The first thing waiting for him on Monday morning is a pile of paperwork and a note from Robards about how he should’ve had said paperwork on his desk last week.

Sighing at the thought of a day full of desk duty ahead of him, Harry takes off his coat and settles in. Spending the whole day cooped up in this office is not how he had planned today to go but being an auror is not all action and drama like it’s chalked up to be. If only people knew how many forms they have to fill out every bloody week.

Draco saunters in about ten minutes later, in all his elegance with the robes swishing behind him and his hair perfectly in place. He too, scowls, when he spots the mountain of paperwork.

“Robards?”

Harry nods, too busy scribbling notes from the murder last week.

“Great,”, comes the response as Draco plops down at his desk and starts sorting through his much smaller pile because he’s someone who actually does paperwork as he goes along. Annoying habit, Harry thinks, looking at the git with his three forms to fill out while Harry will be making notes till the day’s end at least.

Tea is served shortly after the day officially starts, and Harry is probably looking at the tea-cart witch with hearts in his eyes. She gives him an extra tea biscuit much to the contempt of his partner who’s always been on testy terms with her.

“She doesn’t even know how to make a proper cup of tea,”, the idiot says before the witch has even left the floor. She’s probably still within earshot and will most likely give Draco a milky tea again tomorrow.

“She makes a lovely brew, just not for you. Because you keep insulting her.”

“Yes, I’m sure a plebeian like you thinks her tea is lovely.”

Harry just shakes his head and checks off the boxes on an incident report, too used to such minor insults from the git.

He’s halfway through his cup of tea when Draco rolls his chair over to Harry’s desk and steals the tea biscuit.

“I can see you stealing the biscuit, y’know?”

“It’s a good thing then, seeing as how I’m not trying to be discreet, and you _are_ an auror.”

Pushing the bundle of paperwork away, Harry leans back in his chair. The tea is genuinely good and deserves to be savoured, and he can use five minutes away from triplicated Ministry forms.

“So, how was your weekend?”, he asks Draco as casually as he can manage.

The blond nods in response and answers, “It was alright. The museum was interesting. Not quite as good as I had expected, though.”

He feels that exact same change in the air around them, that same one from the pub ages ago. And the same that happens every once in a while that leads Harry to make the same mistake again and again.

He really doesn’t want to go down this road again though.

“Oh?”, he asks anyway because never let it be said that Harry Potter has even a shred of self-preservation in his body.

“It was very one-sided, I thought.” Harry can feel his eyebrows climbing up his forehead, heart starting to race as Draco’s words register. He’s not sure what his partner sees or thinks, but he quickly explains himself. “The exhibit, I mean. Very biased and one-sided, I felt. Sebastian really enjoyed it though.”

His eyes are keenly raking across Harry’s face as if he’s watching for a reaction. 

“That’s good, then,”, is all Harry offers.

“So. You went to the match.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. _He must know for sure, then._

Well, looks like they’re going down this way whether he wants to or not.

“Yeah, I took Oliver.”

Draco’s eyes are almost piercing through him, and Harry feels a sudden heat spreading through his chest. He brings the teacup to his lips, hoping to hide any expression from his face.

Draco doesn’t seem to care, his eyes don’t falter even for a second, don’t leave Harry at all as he says, “Yes, I saw the photos.”

_Oh bloody hell!_

So, Oliver had been right. Skeeter was taking photos and using them for a concocted story. Well, it’s done now, he reckons.

“Skeeter showed up and tried to act all discreet but we didn’t pay her much mind. It was a good match.”

A moment of absolute silence, neither of them makes a single sound or tries to move.

And then, Draco lifts his right leg to settle the ankle on his left knee. It’s a simple movement, a change in posture but the tailor made trousers that cling to those sinful thighs, the leather boots and the steel gray eyes - Harry’s left to catch his breath. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,”, he says in that intentional posh lilt in his voice that Harry used to mock years ago but which sends shivers down his spine now.

Something unsaid hangs between them, and Harry wants to say it. He so badly wants to say it. “Listen, I--”

“Malfoy!”

Robards barges in without a warning and orders Draco to follow him. Harry stands there wondering if he’d have said it if Robards hadn’t come in.

***

When Draco doesn’t come back for two hours, Harry is equal parts worried and overwhelmed with work. He’s been tirelessly labouring over the reports and the forms, while constantly watching the door for any sign of his partner.

He does wonder if they’re going acknowledge the almost moment just before Robards barged in, or if it’s another one ignored and forgotten that they’ll never talk about. He does wonder, but the oncoming headache from reading through the tiny font of the Ministry forms and the illegible squiggles does keep him from wondering too much in the absence of his partner.

When he does come back, he’s scowling. Which is the default setting for Draco but Harry suspects it’s more than that just now.

“What did Robards say?”, he asks as soon as Draco pushes through the door.

“The usual,”, comes the reply in a lazy drawl. He sounds like he’s not even bothered.

Harry puts the quill down to properly look at Draco, there’s not an inch of worry on his long face. “Another warning?”

Draco nods while pulling his chair away from Harry’s desk and towards his own. “Apparently, I need to be ‘more polite’ and ‘warm’ with witnesses and everyone else we come across. What does he expect, for me to hold their hand and knit them a blanket?”

Harry can’t help but chuckle at the mental picture that creates: Draco holding the hand of an elderly witch while she blows her nose into a handkerchief--

“What’re you grinning about?”, comes the snappish remark from Draco.

He bites his lip to stop himself from bursting out laughing, and shakes his head. “Nothing, just thinking about something.”

“Yes, well, I told him where he could stuff his politeness and warmth.”

“You said that to Robards?!”, Harry asks in a clearly shocked voice.

As much as Draco has issues with authority and following orders, Harry can’t imagine him saying that to their superior officer and still be standing here in the Ministry.

“I was thinking it and I’m quite sure he saw it on my face.”

Harry can believe that; when Draco wants, he can say a hundred things with just his face - especially rude things. “And what did he say?”

“Made me sit in a workshop with some fresh-out-of school, pimply faced Hufflepuff who’d probably cry if I so much as pointed a finger at him.”

Harry’s laughing before Draco’s even finished the sentence because that’s a mental picture he will never forget. Especially, because last June when Robards had forced them to go see a therapist, Draco had sat on the sofa in that cramped little office with a permanent scowl on his face, and passive-aggressively insulted the therapist every single session till she’d broken down crying and refused to see them again.

Not that it’s something to be laughed about. Harry had felt really bad for the poor woman but Draco had just been so uncomfortable whenever she’d talk about feelings and finding the ‘real you’ and ‘building a bridge to the inner you’. His face had always resembled someone who had just accidentally sucked on ten lemons.

And having seen that face, Harry can imagine Draco sitting in the little conference room adjoining Robards’ office listening to some kid lecture him for two hours about politeness.

“You in a workshop!”, he gets out in between peals of laughter after all that vivid imagery.

Draco is the very picture of ‘woe is me’ as he leans back in his chair and mutters, “Well, I’m glad you are finding pleasure in my misery.”

“Oh, come on! I’m sure it was a very enlightening experience.”

Draco doesn’t seem to see the humour in the situation at all. Even when Harry tries to smile reassuringly at him, the git doesn’t stop scowling.

“I’ll be sure to thank Robards when the next psycho we arrest ends up killing me because I was too busy coddling him to actually do my job.”

Harry’s probably hexing himself in the face by saying this but that’s never stopped him before: “You don’t have to coddle them, but you don’t have to abuse them and curse the last ten generations of their family either.”

And sure enough, the look he gets in return is pure scorn. “You’ve never complained before, Potter.”

Harry shrugs and says, “I value my limbs, thank you very much.” Even as he’s saying it, he can see a row on the horizon.

_Why is he stirring things up? Why, over a stupid thing?_

Draco’s not stopping to think about it at all, it seems. He’s looking at Harry with a jaw clenched so hard, his teeth are probably hurting. “Why don’t you request a new partner, then? Someone who’s not a mindlessly violent psychopath?”

“Your words, not mine.”

And then they don’t talk for two days.

***

He suspects that the fight happened for reasons other than their disagreement on how to treat witnesses and potential criminals.

Reasons that may, perhaps, have something to do with a certain quidditch player and a certain conversation that could’ve led to some things changing between the two of them but was cut short due to their meddling supervisor.

Perhaps.

Regardless, it’s Wednesday and he is losing his patience.

Harry has been a right git, and hasn’t tried talking to him even once. Not even when they were called out this morning to provide backup for a raid gone wrong.

And well, Draco’s got stubbornness running through his very veins. So here they are.

Harry is scribbling something in his chicken scrawl that Draco can’t see from here, because they haven’t even pushed their chairs together in three days now. They’ve been sat at their own desks and used memos to communicate even though there are maybe eight feet between them.

Draco sighs and dips his quill in the inkpot again. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Harry using a pen - he’s doing it to annoy Draco because he knows how much it bothers him when Harry uses those stupid things and keeps clicking them incessantly.

But he’s not going to be the one to break the silence so he casts a wandless muffling charm around himself and goes back to filling out the stupid incident report that’s been sent back by Robards three times now.

In the silence of the office, even the sound of quill scratching against the parchment is loud. It’s getting on his nerves, this childish feud, but he’d sooner be hexed senseless than be the one to talk first. Not when Harry’s accused him of being psychopath, more or less.

So, he prays that someone would just barge in already and break the tense silence.

***

A yellow memo darts through the door and lands in front of Harry with a whoosh. He looks up to see it’s from Robards.

Across the room, he can see Draco watching him from behind his book; the git thinks he’s being discreet. He doesn’t let on about the memo, and instead continues to finish the report he’s doing. When he’s done, he gets up and leaves the room without saying anything.

Once he’s outside, the memo clutched in his fist, he breathes as if he’s just broken the surface of the Great Lake. In there, with Draco, it’s stifling. It’s like being stuck in a dungeon with no air and no one to turn to but his git of a partner who insists on being arrogant and fighting about meaningless things.

Harry wants this to be over so they can go back to their insulting and abusing ways but he’s done being the one who always gives in. So all in all, he’s been dying on the inside for days now and is very glad to get a chance to leave that room.

Robards’ face, the second Harry enters the office, is not very welcoming though and Harry’s quickly realizing that he’d rather be stuck in that room with his stupid partner.

“Ah, Potter! Have a seat.”

It’s never good when Robards offers someone a seat.

“Sir, everything alright?”, he asks without bothering to sit down. He will do anything he can to make sure he’s not here one second longer than he has to be.

Robards nods to the seat so Harry just sighs and sits down. Looks like it’s going to be a long conversation whether he wants it to be or not.

Turns out, a witness he and Draco interviewed for a trial has recanted his statement. Needless to say, Robards wants to stake them both through the heart so Harry spends a half hour convincing Robards to let them talk to the witness again.

Robards agrees, very begrudgingly. On one condition, he says.

"What's that?”

"Malfoy doesn't go near him.”

He can sense his own temper rising but thankfully being around Draco and dealing with his antics has made him extremely patient and able to keep a lid on his instinctive reactions. So in his best polite voice, he asks Robards the reason for this condition.

"He's the reason your witness recanted.” The disdain in Robards’ voice is thinly veiled and despite himself, Harry wants to defend Draco. Then, he remembers the case and the interviews they did.

"What? Why?"

Expecting some Death Eater bullshit as the reason, he's already clenching his jaw but what Robards tells him makes him want to throw a brick at Draco’s face.

Quietly agreeing to Robards' condition, he goes back to their office and finds Draco furiously scribbling an inter-departmental memo. His quill stops and he looks up when Harry enters.

There’s a moment’s hesitation where he seems to be considering if he should end their cold war, but something in Harry’s face makes him speak - it may be his left eye that’s twitching madly, or maybe his jaw that’s clenched so hard it’s almost hurting.

"What? What is it?”, he says in that posh voice, like he’s the one who is utterly done and should be angry and has a fucking potato under his tongue.

Harry takes a deep breath to remind himself to not launch a brick at his stupid face. When he’s sure he won’t reach for the closest heavy object and throw it at his partner, he asks: “Did you tell Wickers he looks like a kneazle crossed with an elf?"

The answer is instantaneous: “No.”

He blinks at Draco, patience straining as the seconds tick by. He doesn’t look away from the shifty-eyed git across the room.

Without meaning to, Harry closes his fingers around the paperweight on his desk and the second he does, the silence breaks just as Draco’s eyes widen at the action.

"Yes."

"You can't do that!", Harry snaps.

Of course, Draco's response is: “But he does.”

Sighing, Harry starts to walk out of the room. He can’t be held responsible for his actions right now especially as Draco doesn’t even seem at all sorry for jeopardizing their case. It’s best he’s away from his office right now.

"Where are you going?"

He sounds angry, but Harry couldn’t give a toss about that if he tried.

"Away from you,”, he throws over his shoulder just before the doors slam behind him.

***

Robards has assigned them a surveillance mission thanks to Draco insulting their witness and therefore almost sabotaging their case. A surveillance mission to surveil a dormant cell of potion smugglers who may or may not do something illegal tonight. Clearly, they are being punished.

“This is all your fault! If you hadn’t opened your big mouth to Wickers, we wouldn’t be here!”, he hisses at his stupid partner whose stupid fucking tongue has landed them here when they could be asleep at home like normal people.

“Oh, like you’ve never said something sarcastic or mean to anyone!”, his partner hisses back almost instantly as if he was just waiting for Harry to break the silence.

“Not to a fucking witness to their fucking face!”, he almost yells but at the last moment, remembers that they are on a stealth mission regardless of the fact that the notice-me-nots they’ve cast that could probably conceal a bus full of people.

“Will you stop cursing, Potter? It doesn’t make your point any more valid,”, comes the lazy drawl of Draco sodding Malfoy.

Harry snaps: “You are such a git!”

All he gets in response is an air of indifference. Draco looks like he’s about to yawn in boredom as he answers, “Yes, classic argument. You win.”

“You don’t have to be such a dick all the time!”, his patience is really running low and being on a surveillance mission might just be the worst place for losing one’s patience.

Now, Draco’s nostrils are flared and his jaw is clenched as he hisses back, “That’s rich coming from you, after you yelled at me in front of the whole department!”

“You know what’s rich? It’s you still getting away with insulting people after all this time! Remember when you called Hagrid pathetic after you and your sadistic bastard of a father killed his hippogriff over an injury you didn’t even have? Yeah, not a lot has changed!”

Draco’s silent. He’s staring at Harry with a cool gaze as he pants after his little rant.

And when he notices the tightening of Draco’s lips--that’s when he realizes what he’s said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t hav--”

“Don’t be. I did do those things,”, he says in a quiet voice.

“Yeah, but you’re not like that anymore. I know that this was different, I just--you are frustrating to work with.” He snaps his mouth shut, and watches as Draco opens his mouth to say something and then closes it.

Finally, he sighs and leans back against the wall of the little tent they’ve brought with them. Harry watches him from under his lashes, waiting for an angry retort.

Draco licks his lips, stalls for a moment and then begins: “I know we haven’t talked about it much since that night in Scotland but I’d hoped that you knew anyway. I’ll say it, just so _we_ are clear. Anyone else, I don’t care about.”

Harry can sense the discomfort, he never meant for a silly argument to become this. Of course, he knows Draco isn’t the spoiled brat he was at Hogwarts. “You don’t have to--”

“I was a sadistic little shit at Hogwarts; I hated you and your little posse.” Harry snaps his mouth shut when Draco cuts him off, his words ringing in Harry’s ears especially because of the intensity in his voice.

“That, however, doesn’t justify the things I did. Teased you about your parents’ death, got that bloody chicken killed, pretended to be a dementer hoping you’d fall off the broom and crack your skull open, blackmailed your little girlfriend to catch you and bring you to Umbridge, poisoned the Weasel, called Granger something I shouldn’t have, cast _Cruciatus_ on you. I’m sure there are many, many more.”

He stops to take a deep breath, eyes shielded in the darkness around them but then he looks up and Harry can see the honesty shining in them.

“I won’t make excuses for my behavior, that’s not what my mother has taught me. I was a child and I don’t mean that as an excuse either. I was, however, young and impressionable. And I was desperate for my father’s approval. I never saw anything wrong with teasing someone--teasing you about the death of your parents. I do, now.”

“Okay.”

They’re both quiet after that.

Harry can hear Draco breathing beside him, he’s sure that just that one word is enough to make Draco realise that Harry has forgiven him. Even if he hasn’t directly apologized.

They sit side by side, waiting for someone to leave or go into the house. There’s absolute stillness all around, and they’re basically sitting on their arses doing nothing.

When it gets a little too quiet, Harry breaks the silence with a revelation he can’t believe he didn’t think of before now: “Buckbeak’s alive.”

His partner’s neck makes an unpleasant clicking sound as he snaps his head to look at Harry with wide eyes. It takes Draco a moment to find his tongue.

“What?!”

“Yup, we saved him. Hermione and I, we used a time-turner.”

His gray eyes only widen more in shock as he utters, “Excuse me?”

Harry can’t help but smirk at Draco, knowing that he’s envious of Harry having used such a rare device. “McGonagall lent us one.”

“She _lent_ you one?” He looks like he’s two seconds away from pulling out his hair, and Harry’s sure that his act of nonchalance is only making Draco madder.

“Yeah. Well, originally she lent Hermione one so she could take extra classes and be in two places at the same time.” Draco looks so close to losing it, Harry has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning.

“I know how a time turner works, thank you very much, Potter. I mean, she gave you one of the rarest magical devices _just like that?_ ”

“Well, we all wanted to save Buckbeak and it didn’t look like your father would ever let that happen so.”

Draco sits in stunned silence for a minute, just staring down at the floor and thinking to himself. When he finally recovers, he turns to Harry and asks, “So that chick--hippogriff is alive, then?”

“Last time I checked, he was enjoying the sun down in Spain somewhere.”

“Good,”, is all he says.

***

They get more relaxed as the night goes on. Well, it’s really difficult to be mad at someone when you are stuck with them in extremely close quarters, while on a potentially dangerous mission.

It started with the simple ‘hand me the water’, ‘did you bring any food?’ and ‘this is such a stupid mission’.

Then, it slowly progressed to ‘can you stop opening the flap over and over, I’m freezing here’ and ‘Did you drink all the tea? What’s wrong with you!’

And now they are in the middle of an argument about whose fault it was that they haven’t talked for four days.

“--would you say that to a witness! In what world does that make sense?”

“Oh, this coming from the man who told a suspect ‘No offence, but I really don’t care for the backstory’.”

“We’d been awake for three days straight! I was about to fall asleep in the middle of his childhood trauma story,”, he tries to argue but they both know he’s already lost this one.

“And that makes it okay to insult a suspect? When I can’t even get away with calling Wickers a silly name?”

“He recanted his statement thanks to your silly name calling!”

“I’m sure Robards convinced him to come back, maybe offered him Ministry workshops on how to look less like a kneazle crossed with an elf and more like a crossdressing donut two seconds away from a mid-life crisis.”

Harry tries to hold in his laughter--almost bites through his lip, runs his tongue along his upper teeth--but he bursts out laughing anyway.

His partner is looking at him like a smug bastard.

“Will you stop grinning? You’re almost blinding me with all 32 of your teeth on display!”, snaps when Draco just won’t stop grinning like a child on too much sugar.

“Are you saying I have spectacular teeth, Potter? Why, thank yo--”

“Just shut up and eat your food.”

***

Now that they’re back to mildly abusing each other with every word and every look, Harry wants to get something off his chest. It’s been bothering him for days now, and he’s had to restrain himself from just giving in and breaking the radio silence. But he’s held on.

Testing the waters, he says: “Oliver asked me out a while ago -- last year, I think -- but I never really gave it much thought. It’ll be nice to see if it goes anywhere, now that I have an excuse.”

Draco tenses up beside him but almost instantly relaxes, and if someone didn’t know every little twitch and turn of his body, they’d miss it.

But Harry doesn’t, he sees the stiffness in Draco’s neck and the thinness of his lips. He is giving Draco a chance to object, to give Harry a reason to say no to Oliver.

“Well, at least you’ll have someone to drag to every single quidditch match ever,”, is what Draco says.

He doesn’t bother looking at Harry after he’s said it, and doesn’t bother saying anything else.

Harry sighs and picks up the omnioculars, quite used to the heavy silences by now. Too familiar with the harrowing silences filled with unsaid things and brimming emotions. The suffocating silences.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about now? How far do you think this fake!dating thing will go till one of them snaps? And who do you think will snap first?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rather quick update after the one the other night but I'm looking to finish this one soon so expect longer chapters and with lesser time in between. A special thank you to Kimmysue526 for their lovely comments on my fics, it's been a whirlwind of comments the last two days and it's been amazing so thanks. Alrighty, on you go! 
> 
> *There's a dialogue in here that's originally Maggie Smith's from her character as Lady Violet, and let me tell you the sass and snark almost killed me. Draco uses the dialogue in this, if you're curious. Feel free to guess which one. Also, more Castle references!

A note from Oliver is waiting for him at his desk the next morning; he’s wondering if Harry would like to have lunch together.

He folds up the note and pushes it into his pocket just as Draco saunters through the door, robes billowing behind him and all traces of last night’s exhaustion gone.

He looks at Harry with narrowed eyes, has probably seen the note then. 

“Morning, Potter.”

Harry nods in response already thinking about whether he should go to lunch with Oliver, he’ll have to make an excuse to Draco. Maybe he could say something about Teddy, make up a story about meeting him or--

“You alright, Potter? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

He makes a quick excuse about having eaten something bad this morning and that seems to satisfy Draco enough for now.

“So, new case today,”, Draco offers, “I heard Smith complaining about how he’s got another shiit case while we get the good ones. Would’ve liked to see him doing the surveillance job last night.”

He’s ranting while unbuttoning his fancy robes to put on the standard Ministry issue Auror robes which he refuses to wear from home because ‘there’s no way I’d let anyone see me in such sub-standard fabric outside of this forsaken job, Potter’.

Harry’s not paying attention to the little undressing show going on five feet from him, he’d learned his lesson early on. Instead, he starts straightening up the papers spread all over his desk, and waits for Draco to finish when all of a sudden, Draco stops with his head poking through the undershirt he has on, hair ruffled after pulling the robes off and face screwed up in a frown.

Harry looks over once but then busies himself with arranging the papers into two piles.

Draco doesn’t seem to want to stop his bitching anytime soon, he pulls on the Auror robes and continues, “The git was holding court in the lift, stopped short when I got on and then made a show of complaining about getting the stupid cases. As if I could care any less.”

And finally, he’s got his robes on. With a quick spell, his hair is impeccable again and his robes look freshly-ironed and creased in all the right places. Just like that, he’s the best dressed auror in the building.

“Did you get the new case file, yet?”

Harry hands him the file that’d been on his desk when he came in this morning, something about a disturbance down in Diagon Alley.

Draco leafs through the file while leaning against Harry’s desk, so close that Harry could move his hand an inch and touch him. His eyes rake across the incident report submitted by the patrolman on duty yesterday and when he closes the file, he looks down at Harry with a smirk on his face. “This is interesting. No wonder Smith was being a prick!”

It takes Harry a moment to look away from the stormy gray eyes staring into his. In fact, it isn’t until the witch with the tea cart comes in that Draco pushes off his desk and walks over to his own without another word, a thick tension once again lingering in the air around them.

As usual, he gets a strongly brewed cup of black tea while Draco’s looks like a milky concoction with two despondent looking tea leaves floating on top. Well, at least they’re safely hidden behind their own desks now and not caught in another one of those stupid moments where anything could happen.

Shaking it off, Harry thanks the witch for the tea and the biscuit she leaves him once again. Draco seems to be muttering about his bad luck and when he looks up, his eyes find Harry’s once again. A beat. “I’m going to make my own bloody tea!”

And he storms out of the office mumbling about the despicable break room and how he has to stoop down to the levels of the proletarians the Ministry is crawling with.

The second the doors slam shut behind his partner, Harry relaxes into his chair and takes a deep breath.

Things can’t go on like this for very long, he reminds himself.

 _Well, it has been nearly four years it’s been going on_ , his brain helpfully supplies.

***

Once they’ve apprehended the mugger from the robbery on Diagon last night, he and Draco are just dropping off the lowlife at the Investigation Department. While they wait for their turn, Harry decides to just come out and say what’s been on his mind all day.

“You wouldn't mind if Oliver comes along for lunch, would you?” The moment the question is out, he feels a twinge of regret because Draco’s mouth tightens.

They’re sat on a stiff bench outside the interrogation rooms, with the mugger sitting between them. So, maybe this isn’t the best place to have this conversation but it’s well past noon and they’ll be going to lunch once they hand over the teenager handcuffed to the bench so this may be the last chance he gets to ask before they floo to the restaurant to find Oliver already waiting. Draco will have surely killed Harry if he didn’t mention it beforehand so he had no choice really.

Draco leans back against the wall and looks at Harry, over the kid’s head. A single eyebrow is raised as if asking, ‘Really, Potter? Now?’

Harry shrugs in response, doing his best to ignore the back and forth swinging of their criminal’s neck like a revolving door as he looks between the two of them.

“Sure”, Draco says shortly and looks away toward his side of the corridor.

Harry tries to study his face, to see if he can tell what Draco’s thinking but the kid--Thomas--inserts his head in front of Draco’s and looks at Harry for a moment before shaking his head. It seems that even a mugger has better sense than Harry.

Purely out of spite, he smacks the kid upside the head.

***

“Malfoy.” 

“Wood.”

Harry stands awkwardly at the four seater table; Oliver and Draco are already sitting across from each other with an empty seat next to both, and are staring up at him.

He takes a second too long to decide and a server comes over to fill the water jug so he rushes to sit anywhere and anywhere ends up being beside Oliver. There’s a moment of palpable tension as the server fills the jug and asks how they are, but Draco and Oliver don’t seem to be paying attention.

Harry smiles at the server and overcompensates for the awkward silence by almost yelling at the poor boy, “Alright, thanks. You?”

The server -- Andrew, his name tag says -- flinches at the loudness of Harry’s response but recovers well. “I’m good, thank you. Are we ready to order drinks?”

After what feels like years, Draco looks away from Oliver and orders a glass of wine. Harry’s comment dies on his tongue when Oliver speaks first, “Wine? Aren’t you two on duty?”

Harry and Andrew both look from Oliver to Draco. “I’d order something stiffer but I don’t want your boyfriend to get splinched when I side-along him back to the Ministry.”

Harry can feel his throat drying up instantly and beside him, Andrew takes in a sharp breath. He can only imagine what Oliver’s going to say in response--

“Not my boyfriend.”

Draco doesn’t say anything, he looks up at Andrew and raises an eyebrow in question. Andrew skitters away to fetch him that drink without bothering to ask Harry or Oliver what they’d like.

Harry feels like his only support has gone, leaving him alone in a dangerous situation. He reckons it’s quite bad when you feel the loss of your server and want him to stand beside you through the meal.

Thankfully, Andrew returns with a glass of the wine of the day and deposits it in front of Draco like he’s afraid he’ll be eaten alive if he doesn’t give the blond git what he wants. Harry orders a pint and his usual fish and chips to try and break the ice.

By the time their food arrives, the initial pleasantries, or unpleasantries in this case, are over. They’re sat in a neutral silence, sometimes broken by Oliver asking Harry something mundane like how often does he take a vacation.

It doesn’t feel like such a disaster when they’re eating, and Harry almost gets lulled into a false sense of security before it shatters like cheap glass.

“So Malfoy, still tormenting unsuspecting victims with your sharp tongue? Harry told me about the witness you sent away crying and recanting.”

Harry wants to throttle Oliver, but he probably won’t get a chance if the way Draco’s gaze snaps to him and the heat in his eyes is anything to go by.

“Harry should keep his mouth shut about things that are private business. Not that you lot will ever understand privacy.”

Oliver stiffens beside him and his voice is brimming with anger when he asks, “Us lot?”

Draco brings a spoonful of curry to his lips and sucks it clean, not bothering to answer Oliver right away. He takes his time and when he finally sees fit, says: “Gryffindors. I bet there’s no such thing as secrecy and privacy among you.”

Oliver’s fork clatters onto his plate. “Well, at least we care about each other. Not like Slytherins, hexing their own and terrorizing everyone for the sake of cheap thrills. Or have you forgotten when you dressed up like a dementor and almost killed Harry?”

Harry’s protest of “Erm, can we please--” gets completely ignored in the verbal sparring going on. He sits there staring down at his soggy chips when Draco chuckles all of a sudden.

Oh no. Merlin no.

Nothing good ever comes when Draco chuckles like that, like he’s about to flatten someone in a moment.

“And you cared so much about Potter and his well being that you couldn’t be arsed to go see if he was even alive all because you didn’t win that match. Isn’t that right? Always been blindly dedicated to Quidditch, haven’t you?”

Harry’s not sure how Draco even knows that Oliver hadn’t come to see him in the hospital wing for three days. He can only stare.

Oliver’s hand clenches into a fist, no doubt thinking about his confession of guilt to Harry the other day about this exact thing, but he seems to be in control of himself as he only says, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Then, I must’ve said it wrong.” Draco’s wiping his mouth on his napkin and sliding out of the booth before Harry can even say anything. “Excuse me.”

Andrew’s standing beside the now empty seat with a bottle of wine in hand, apparently here to refill Draco’s glass only to find his patron leaving. He turns to look at Harry with wide eyes, probably processing the absolutely brutal butchering he's just witnessed and hoping to find any signs of how to react. If only Harry had a single clue about that.

“See you back at the office, if you decide to come back”, Draco shoots over his shoulder after handing Andrew a few galleons.

“Still charming as ever, I see”, says Oliver beside him, pulling his attention away from the blond head disappearing into the floo at the corner of the room.

“Yeah”, is all he can manage.

***

He gets back to the office at 1:15. 

Draco left a good twenty minutes before him so he’s expecting to walk into the office and find his partner waiting for him. He’s ready for an argument and probably a hex or two but none of that happens.

Instead, he walks into an empty office.

Draco isn’t back yet. Where could he have gone?

He tries to get some work done, but every time he hears someone walking by outside, he thinks it’s Draco and then it takes him extra effort to get back to his boring writing.

About half an hour later, the door opens and finally Draco walks in.

“Ah, you’re back”, says his partner in a perfectly calm tone, even though he’s the one who has just come back to the office fifteen minutes late from his lunch.

No sign of a murderous rage or an impending argument.

Harry’s suspicious, and for good reason, so he stays behind his desk and only answers with a slow, “Yes.”

“Well, good. I need you to write down your half of the activity log from last night’s surveillance. Robards stopped me in the lift to ask if we’d finished it yet.”

Harry can’t quite believe that he’s not going to be hexed into next week for telling Oliver about Wickers. Call him paranoid, but he doesn’t dare let his guard down. He’s been working with a Slytherin too long to make that mistake.

“Potter, will you get a move on? It’s those bloody chips you insist on eating every day, all that oil and fat! And then you’re lazy for the rest of the day.”

“No, I’m fine. Just thinking about something.”

“And I suppose thinking and writing a report at the same time is too much for you?”, asks Draco in that honey sweet tone that almost always comes with a biting remark.

Harry looks at his partner for a second, takes in his carefully blank features and his adamant insistence to pretend that the last two hours didn’t happen, when he was the one who lied to his mother about Oliver, and he was the one who told Harry to pretend to date Oliver, and he was the one who started all of this.

“Where were you?” That comes out oddly possessive, something he has no right to be so he corrects, “I mean--where did you go after--”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I went to Sebastian’s shop. There’s a shawarma place down the street. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

And he walks out of the office with a pile of files floating in the air behind him.

***

Draco has never been very good with emotions. 

Maybe it’s to do with how father always taught him to hide his emotions behind indestructible walls because they make you weak and vulnerable.

Maybe it’s to do with how he was punished practically every time he showed any emotion but disdain.

Or maybe it’s because he has never allowed himself to be open about something as menial as emotions and sentiments.

Regardless, he struggles with emotions.

And that’s why he had excused himself from lunch, as a sharp sliver of betrayal had lodged itself firmly in his chest incessantly stabbing at his pounding heart when Wood had thrown the Wickers incident in his face. Making him feel something he hasn’t felt for so long - inept.

He’d left the restaurant and flooed to the Ministry, shaking with anger and resentment. 

_Why had he trusted Potter to keep his secrets?_

He’d paced the small office, breathing through the haze of betrayal. He’d cast a muffliato and then trashed the office in rage, remembering Wood's smug face as he put Draco down. And then, he’d mended the broken inkpots and vanished the spilled ink with trembling fingers, and put everything back in place.

At the end of it, he’d felt empty. Like all the anger and the agony had seeped out of him, leaving him feeling oddly at peace.

Then, he’d flooed over to Sebastian’s bookshop and offered to get lunch together. Sebastian had been very happy at the offer and they’d walked to the Pakistani and part Syrian place down the street.

He’d felt a little guilty when Sebastian had smiled at him all sweet, and he’d realized the next moment that Sebastian wasn’t pretending anymore.

He’d left with a quick goodbye, not wanting to make matters worse and lead Sebastian on. And when he’d come back, the look on Harry’s face - the dread and the skepticism - had made him act like nothing was wrong if only to see the confusion reflected in those bright green eyes.

And now, as he sits in the Ministry library looking up historical cases to put as a footnote in his report, he smirks down at the pristine pages of a three hundred year old book thinking about the mad panic Harry’s going to be in for days to come, just waiting for Draco to bring up the disastrous lunch and hex him.

He is a Slytherin, after all.

***

Neither of them has mentioned the cluster-fuck that was lunch with Oliver.

Harry has been walking on eggshells since then but nothing in Draco’s behaviour points toward a revenge plot. Harry, being Harry - hunted wizard extraordinaire - doesn’t stop looking over his shoulder for a good week.

Thankfully, the case they’re working on is taking up a lot of time and effort so Draco doesn’t seem too inclined on plotting of any kind.

A witch has been murdered.

She had won a lottery last month, five thousand galleons. It could be a robbery, her house was broken into and her safe blown out of the wall and removed. But it also couldn’t be because other valuables in the house were left untouched.

It’s been in the papers for two days now, every move of the Aurors published on the front page.

Another possible explanation that had come up was a potential lover who saw the money in the safe and just couldn’t resist the urge. She’d caught him in the act and he’d slain her.

Harry is leading the briefing this morning, and a good number of aurors present are paying attention to the theories they’ve come up with so far and the evidence collected. Draco is standing off to the side nodding in all the right places, even though he’s the one who did most of the work on the murder board.

‘Your chicken scrawl is illegible and I don’t want to be speaking to half-asleep aurors who’re hardly paying attention. I’ll do the writing and you do the talking’, he’d said last night as they’d gotten ready for another sleepless night at the Ministry.

“We are looking for someone she may have talked to friends about, someone she recently met at a pub or someone she brought home with her. Talk to neighbours - anyone they saw with her, talk to friends and family - did she mention anyone new in her life, that sort of thing.”

Smith raises his hand and Harry is so close to rolling his eyes hard enough that they fall out of his head, but he resists. Instead, he nods at Smith.

“Surely we’re not to drag every single person she met down to the Ministry? Isn’t there anything more specific to go by?”

He wants to throw his half-filled teacup at Smith. While he’s gripping the cup tightly, hoping the urge will soon pass, Draco speaks out from the back of the room.

“Well, as an auror, I think you can be a somewhat decent judge of who should and shouldn’t be dragged to the Ministry.”

There are a few murmurs and more than a few chuckles at his dig at Smith. Harry, himself, lowers his face to sip from the teacup to hide his smile behind the china.

“Anyway, back to assignments. We also need to speak to her coworkers, see if there was anyone at work who she might’ve fancied. I spoke to her sister, and she said Sophie was very particular about who she brought home especially after she won the lottery. So, we’re looking for someone she would’ve trusted.”

The people in the room nod along and some are making notes, Harry can feel the energy in the room. Everyone wants to catch the sick bastard who did something so heinous.

“Or alternately, we are looking for someone she would make an exception for. The kind of man she would never have had a chance with.” It’s the lack of sleep and the abundance of tea in his system, that he's unable to censor his next thought. “We all know people like that, don’t we?”

His eyes meet Draco’s across the room.

Everyone else seems to be staring at him, confused as to why he would say that but Harry feels himself struck by the gaze of his partner.

Someone clears their throat, and Harry snaps back to reality. Every single auror in the room is staring at him.

He coughs to cover up the lump in his throat and continues as if the last thirty seconds didn’t happen. “Think about a person who wouldn’t be interested in her per se, so she’d be inclined to let him into her house.”

He holds his breath as they slowly start scribbling that down, confusion still apparent on some faces. When he looks up at the back of the room, Draco isn’t there.

Turning his mind off about all that, Harry wraps up the briefing with a few other little things he and Draco had discussed yesterday.

“Alright! So we all have our assignments. It’s still in the early stages so we’ll probably do a lot of talking with friends, family, neighbours. Don’t be shy to talk to anyone and everyone who knew her. The Patrol department has sanctioned additional shifts for foot patrol, we are canvassing multiple areas of interest. Let’s find whoever did this to Sophie.”

A sea of nods and determined faces stares back at him. Robards looks satisfied with the response from his aurors, he leaves shortly after the first teams start getting ready for their assignment.

To his immense relief, no one mentions the weird slip up.

 _Well, at least till eventually Draco does_ , he thinks with a sigh. 

***

At the Medical Examiner’s office yesterday, Harry had been exceptionally strange, bitchy and snapped at Draco without any provocation. In front of Zacharias Smith, no less.

“She had sex a few hours before the murder,”, Head Examiner Greene had said gravely.

And Draco, without really meaning to, had gone: “Sex?”

“I’ll explain how that works, later,”, Harry hadn’t wasted a second in delivering that stellar response and he’d had the audacity to wink at Draco.

Smith had snorted like a pig and Draco would’ve slaughtered him in a second but he was in company so he’d settled for a glare. The bastard had lowered his eyes instantly, still smirking.

Add to this, the pressure of a high profile case and the soaring emotions of everyone involved, and Draco is seconds away from hexing Smith into a piglet.

The imbecile won’t stop boasting about how he’s finally been recognized for his skill and been assigned to the biggest task-force of the year. No matter that every single auror who has even a shred of skill has been assigned. Even Rumlow, who probably couldn’t defend himself against a first year Slytherin, has been assigned.

None of this matters to Smith, who keeps peacocking around instead of actually contributing anything to the case.

If that wasn’t enough, Harry has been acting weird since the little slip-up this morning. Which, yes, it was inappropriate and unprofessional on so many levels. And don’t even get him started on how very detrimental it was and is and will be for Draco’s mental health.

He doubts he’ll ever unsee Harry’s face when he’d looked right at Draco and said it.

For a second, just a second, his inner voice had been dead silent.

Anyway, the point is that Draco has been struggling with keeping his temper under control. He’s feeling like a volcano ready to explode any second and take Zacharias Smith with him.

“Did you get the report back on everyone she worked with? I talked to every single person who was in the same department…” Smith trails off when he sees the rage in Draco’s eyes.

Irritated and patience stretched beyond possible, Draco only looks at Smith and doesn’t bother saying anything. Evidently, the Malfoy part of him that used to practice sneering in a mirror, is still very much in shape.

Smith skitters away from his desk and doesn’t bother him the rest of the day. And Draco’s never been so glad to have a day off as he is that night.

He has a relaxing day at Andromeda's house to look forward to.

***

Teddy comes out to the garden, looking very shy. And Teddy has never really looked shy about much so Harry finds himself frowning. The others seem to have noticed but they’re giving the boy some space. And it’s funny how the three of them are keenly looking away like something fascinating is happening in the garden.

Harry would laugh at the piss poor effort of the Blacks to look discreet, but he doesn’t for Teddy’s sake. Instead, he nods at his godson, silently asking what’s up.

Teddy motions him to come over to the porch. Harry looks around to find Draco watching him out of the corner of his eye. Without letting on anything to Teddy, Harry gets off the lounge chair and puts on his slippers to follow his godson.

“Hey.” Teddy looks up at him for a second before looking away and down at his feet.

Harry looks down at the bowed head of his godson, and his hand lifts up on its own to land on Teddy’s shoulder. Teddy looks up again, his face is creased with uncertainty.

Taking a deep breath, Harry motions toward the porch swing he and Draco had worked on last summer. Teddy walks over to the swing and sits down with his little legs dangling in the air.

Harry can’t help but look at that sight and remember last year when Teddy had jumped onto the swing and sat in a similar position. Then, his feet were nowhere near touching the ground. His godson seems to have grown quite a bit in the last year.

He feels a sudden stab of melancholy in his chest, has to look away from the little boy on the swing with his hands folded neatly in his lap, his legs dangling in the air and feet almost touching the ground. He wishes Remus was here to see his son, and Tonks.

Shaking it off, he sits down beside Teddy and waits.

A minute later, Teddy speaks. “What did my dad teach you?”

It’s so unexpected that Harry does a double take and says something that if Draco was around, he’d roll his eyes all the way into next week. “At Hogwarts?”

Teddy nods.

“Defence against the Dark Arts.”

His brown eyes widen in amazement, like Christmas has come early.

Harry remembers last month when Teddy had been goaded into shoplifting with just a promise of hearing what George had said about Remus. He remembers Draco telling him that it’s not his fault he hadn’t wanted to talk about something painful.

He won’t let that happen again.

“He also taught me a very difficult spell, something much more complex than the others in my class knew, to protect me. He was nice like that.”

Teddy nods and just like that, a smile appears on his face like the blinding rays of summer sun coming out from behind dark clouds.

He doesn’t look shy anymore.

Harry looks up at the sound of footsteps behind them to find Draco crossing the porch to go inside the house. Teddy’s not paying him any attention but Harry can see the curiosity in the gray eyes when they meet his.

He doesn’t know how to tell Draco what’s happened, doesn’t know if it’s even important for Draco to know. After all, Teddy looks fine now.

So he just looks at his partner as Draco walks across the porch and then disappears inside the house. There’s a stiffness to his shoulders but Harry doesn’t know what to do with it so he lets it be.

***

It’s good to be around someone who doesn’t really know him.

With Harry, it’s stifling sometimes. The air gets dense with the long history they share and Draco wonders what it’d be like if he and Harry had never met as children.

If he hadn’t laid eyes on eleven year old Harry Potter and been rejected by him. If he hadn’t heard father spit venom about Harry all those years. If he hadn’t grown to loathe and despise Potter all through Hogwarts. If he hadn’t cast an _Unforgivable_  on Potter.

If he had met Harry as his Auror partner. What would he have thought of the man with an odd shaped scar on his forehead? Would he have allowed himself to feel things he hasn’t in this reality? Would he have given in years ago? Would the little voice in his head saying ‘ _he could never want you’_ still be there?

He doesn’t know the answers to these questions and he doesn’t want to know. But being around Harry, suffocating on the heavy silences--he just wants to get away sometimes.

And so he goes to Sebastian. The one person who has nothing to do with his past and who doesn’t remind him of something horrible he did as a child. 

Sebastian is gentle where Harry is brazen, he’s cool where Harry’s always been scalding hot with his emotions and his actions. Seb is comforting in his silence where Harry has always been intimidating in just his presence. He’s the person everyone turns to and defects to when he enters a room, and it’s always mesmerising to watch but with Sebastian, it’s like coming home after a week long raid and taking off his shoes and falling asleep on the sofa in front of the fire.

Sebastian is the one person who holds no expectations from him.

The one person around whom his subconscious doesn’t berate him or laugh at him. Doesn’t throw things like ‘you teased him about the man who killed his parents, why would he want to be anything but a colleague’, ‘your mate wanted to hand him over to Voldemort, why would he ever want to associate with any of them?’ and often, ‘you were a coward, a spineless excuse of a person who got in his way at every step and did terrible things purely out of spite so how can he want you?‘ in his face.

Maybe, it’s a coward’s way out but he doesn’t think about it too long. He spends more and more time around Sebastian who seems to be genuinely interested in him and hasn’t seen him at his absolute worst.

One person who has finds him at an inopportune time. Pansy Parkinson. In the middle of an argument with Potter about another lunch hour spent away from the Ministry and their usual restaurant.

They are both red faced from yelling and two seconds away from hexing each other silly when Pansy Parkinson walks through the office door, looking coy as ever.

And she opens with: “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be wearing Ministry robes and looking horribly working class, Draco.”

“And I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be married and have two pug faced ankle biters.”

Maybe, he shouldn’t insult a friend he hasn’t seen in years but he’s never been good at managing his anger. The rage inside him that should be directed at Potter comes out in bitter words towards Pansy.

She looks affronted, her hand flies to her chest as if she can’t believe he’s said what he has. With wide eyes, she hisses: “I’ve never been so insulted in my life, Draco!”

“Oh come on, Pansy!” he replies softly, watching her jaw clenching in response. Before she can say anything, he adds, “You must have been.”

The only sound in the room is Potter’s mad laughter, he’s throwing his head back and guffawing. Draco turns to look at Pansy and finds her glaring at him, and if he isn’t mistaken, her eyes are a little wet.

Instantly, he feels bad.

It’s true that she had wanted to give up Potter to Voldemort but if Draco deserves to be forgiven for his mistakes, so does she. She was a child too, a terrified child whose sense of self-preservation blinded her conscience.

Pansy Parkinson had wanted to hand Harry Potter over to Voldemort.

And Draco Malfoy had almost killed Harry Potter many, many times.

If one of them deserves to be forgiven, it’s her.

“Pansy--”

“I came here to--to say something. To Potter. But I see that I’ve come too late.”

“Wait--”

She doesn’t wait.

Afterward, they are left staring at the door and then at each other, the argument long forgotten.

***

When they’d gotten a murder case, Harry’d been excited to finally be assigned something he could really dig his teeth into rather than simple surveillance missions and mindless raids.

There was also a layer of selfishness underneath, thanks to the realization that a real case will surely replace any gaping holes in his partnership with Draco. Surely, when they will be too busy chasing murderers that neither will care about insignificant little things like new relationships replacing established ones and the return of Pansy Parkinson in their lives.

Harry hasn’t told Draco but he saw her two days ago. Saw her, as in, met her. She had stormed out of their office after what Draco had said to her, but what she’d said--it’d made him curious.

He’d told Hermione who, despite her personal grievances with Parkinson, had encouraged him to owl her. ‘Maybe she’s in trouble.’

And Harry had owled her, hadn’t expected an answer but had got one within the hour. She’d said she wanted to meet but didn’t dare to be seen with him in public. That had left him a little puzzled, surely no one would bother her after all this time.

He’d gone where she’d asked, and he’d sat opposite her a good five minutes before she’d talked beyond hello.

“I have two children, twins: Edmund and Josephine.” She’d smiled slightly as if proud of her children just for the feat of being born.

Harry hadn’t known what to say so he’d replied with: “Oh, congratulations!”

She’d frowned, as if on instinct, before training her features back into a polite smile. “Thanks.”

And then another awkward silence.

*****

“Edmund is very interested in the war, he asked me what I remember from the Battle of Hogwarts.” She stops, takes a deep breath in.

Harry can see the hesitation on her face, can probably tell exactly what she’s thinking but he doesn’t want to interrupt her. Clearly, this is a difficult conversation for her.

He waits.

She continues, “Josephine is a smart little miss, wise beyond her age. She--she told Edmund that I had done something very bad during the battle. Doubt she knows what but she knows her mummy did a bad thing.” Her fingers tighten around the mug she’s holding and Harry can see the distress in her eyes.

He can’t deny the fact that he’d hated her in that moment when she’d wanted to send him to his death, had even taken a step toward him--but it’s all in the past now.

They were children.

“Listen, Parkinson--”

“I don’t need your pity, Potter,”, she says but not in that vindictive way the Pansy Parkinson at Hogwarts used to have. She sounds tired more than anything, and her eyes won’t meet Harry’s even as she makes that statement.

“Okay”, he says.

“I am not proud of what I did back then. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t think it was anything wrong either. If all of us could live by giving you to Him, then it made sense for you to die. It just made sense.”

He looks down at his coffee, million thoughts swirling through his mind. 

How can two people be so different from each other? Harry can’t imagine wanting to give up a seventeen year old to Voldemort if that means everyone everyone else lives. Even if that seventeen year old was Malfoy or Parkinson or Crabbe.

And yet, here is Parkinson - a mother of two children - who had done just that.

Houses aside, how can anyone feel like that? Such disregard for someone’s life.

“It doesn’t make sense, not anymore. I’m not saying I’m transformed like Draco is, I’m not a Gryffindork or anything. I just don’t want my daughter to look at me like I’m a bad person. So I want you to know that I no longer think I was right.”

He’d just nodded because she hadn’t seemed like she wanted him to say anything to her. And after they’d finished their drinks, they’d parted ways with a silent nod.

*****

It’s close to midnight, the only sounds are Draco’s quill scratching against the parchment and the little fan in the corner of the office that Harry had to fight for because Draco won’t let him keep the window open because the slightest draft makes the git shiver as if he’s standing on the bloody North pole.

Everyone else has already gone home, exhausted after hours of hard work.

He and Draco had both volunteered to stay the night once again, to go over everything the canvassing had produced and prepare for tomorrow morning’s briefing.

“I feel so bad for her sister, already lost her parents in a fire last year and now Sophie”, he says quietly as a young woman smiles up at him from a photograph in the file, Sophie Talbot.

Draco’s quill stops and he looks up at Harry. It feels like they haven’t seen each other--really looked at each other for days now. Not since that day at the briefing.

This case has been going on for almost a week, and they’ve both been spending all their time on working through statements and evidence. So, when Draco looks at him, it’s like he’s seeing his partner after weeks.

“I know”, says Draco. In the absolute silence of the Ministry, the seriousness of his tone is amplified a hundred times. “I wonder, sometimes, what would happen to mother if I died on a raid or some such shit.”

Harry doesn’t want this to be a morbid discussion, not this one. Not like this, in the middle of a murder case at midnight sitting in a room they haven’t left for ages. He refuses to let this turn into a discussion of things he genuinely fears.

So, he scoffs and lightly offers, “You’ve nothing to worry about; after all, only the good die young.”

Draco’s lips turn upwards in a half smile and his hand goes to his chest as if offended within an inch of his life: “Ouch.”

A moment later, they’re both smiling like idiots.

And like this, surrounded by dark and empty offices and a sound asleep city, Harry feels a thrum of unmistakeable intimacy. This is what being partners is about, none of that other crap about insulting each other or witnesses or fighting over who to go to lunch with.

This is what it’s about - sitting with someone into the wee hours of the morning, baring your deepest fears and having them rebuffed with a joke. Not because the other person is an arse or they don’t understand, but because they do. Because they have the same fears and if there’s anyone in the world who could understand, it’s them. It’s a stolen moment of insecurities and fears bared to someone who gets it.

Harry is so glad he got partnered with Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy, who looks determinedly at the same photo of Sophie on his desk and says, “I want to catch the sick arse who did this to her.”

“We will”, Harry assures him.

Of course, they will. Every single auror who is capable enough is working on this case. They will find the person who did this to Sophie.

***

It comes to a head two days later when Smith struts into his and Harry’s office and starts taunting him about how little he has done on this case while Smith and his useless partner have spoken to over two dozen people in Sophie’s life.

Draco tries, he really does. He tries to not lose his temper over the sheer stupidity of Smith coming in here and flaunting his hard working ways in front of Draco, who hasn’t gone home in three days.

“Why should you be the Lead Auror when you haven’t spoken to a single person related to the victim? Do you even know anything about the case?”

Draco’s out of his chair and on Smith in an instant. Before he even realizes he’s moved, Zacharias is on the floor and Draco’s looking down at him with heated eyes. Smith tries to reach for his wand which is two inches away from his grappling fingers but Draco’s got his own wand trained on the man.

Without breaking a sweat, he stands over Smith with his foot dangerously close to the arm reaching out and he says, “Go ahead, I need the practice.”

All Harry can do is roll his eyes. Sometimes, Draco is just too melodramatic.

Once he’s got that out of the way, he steps forward and puts a hand on his partner’s shoulder to get him to step down. Draco lets go, begrudgingly.

Smith, who doesn’t seem to have learned his lesson, rushes to get off the floor and steps threateningly toward Draco. “Who do you think you are?! Acting like you’re boss when you haven’t even done any work in this cas--”

“Auror Smith!”

They all turn to see Robards standing in the doorway of their office, looking murderous. He walks into the room and stops in front of Smith. “As much as I like to see my aurors challenging one another to do better, I can’t help but wonder just how stupid are you?”

All the blood seems to drain out of Zacharias’ face as he looks at Robards with wide eyes. “S--sir?”, is all he can manage.

“Let me ask you, who do you think has been compiling answers from the hundreds of interviews into something resembling a briefing address every morning? The Ministry does not employ ghosts to do such delicate and intricate work. Auror Malfoy has been doing it. He knows more about the victim than anyone in this room.”

Harry is the one person who’s seen Draco labouring over interview notes from every single auror and patrol person on duty on this case, and he doesn’t doubt a single word Robards has said but he does find himself surprised at Robards’ earnest defence of Draco.

The others who had rushed in when Smith had yelled for help are also staring wide-eyed at Robards. The man in question, however, doesn’t seem to notice. He turns his back to Smith and looks at the others.

“I will not have you disrespect each other or compare your pricks when we’ve got a brutal murder to solve. If anyone wants a bloody promotion, bloody well prove it!”

No one so much as squeaks.

“Get back to work!”

Smith scampers right after Robards leaves, and soon enough everyone goes back to their work leaving Harry and Draco behind.

“Alright?”, Harry asks his partner who’s silently gone back to his desk and his meticulous notes.

He looks up at Harry once, briefly, and nods.

***

Zacharias Smith has hated Draco’s guts since the fateful day when Smith had asked Draco advice about what to wear to the graduation ceremony.

It was the 15th day of May of a certain year, and the trainees of the English Ministry of Magic Auror Program, who were soon going to be Junior Aurors, were all gathered in the Atrium. Invitations for the graduation ceremony and the Ministry Ball right after the ceremony had just been distributed.

A majority of the training group were excited about finally getting to be aurors and were chatting among themselves, and Zacharias Smith was the odd one out. He had approached Malfoy, who at this point was in a foul mood on account of being told that he will be partnered with Harry Potter.

Malfoy was just after a big argument with the Minister for Magic himself about being reassigned, while Harry had stood silently just inside Kingsley’s office and watched the whole thing unfold. He had already been informed of his partnership with Malfoy and the reason behind it, so he had accepted the decision. This had only angered Malfoy further who wanted to know just why Harry wasn’t trying to get out of it.

Harry had shrugged. Malfoy’s nostrils had flared like he was going to run straight at Harry and tackle him to the ground. He hadn’t.

So, they’d ended up back in the Atrium surrounded by the other trainees. And since partners had already been assigned, everyone had gravitated closer to the person they’d be sharing a desk with soon enough.

Harry, naturally, had gone to stand next to Malfoy. And while standing beside his long-time nemesis, he’d had a very strong urge to hit his partner in the face for all the sh-- he’d put Harry through in Hogwarts. Surprisingly, the one incident that stood out the most and enraged Harry the most was Buckbeak’s execution. Well, supposed execution.

Meanwhile, Malfoy had picked a spot on the floor and devoted his entire time and energy on glaring at this spot. Harry had vaguely wondered what they looked like to the rest of the room - royally pissed at each other and the world, he reckoned.

It was at this time that Zacharias Smith had appeared at Malfoy’s elbow. There was a long and awkward silence as Smith had tried to smile at Malfoy while the git hadn’t quit his glaring. Harry had watched from the corner of his eye and cringed internally at the awkwardness.

When Malfoy hadn’t looked at all inclined to respond to the dwindling smile on Smith’s face, Harry had sighed and broken the silence. “Smith.”

“Hey, Harry. You lads ready for the graduation ceremony?”

Harry had just nodded and hoped that Smith would get the message.

He hadn’t.

“I’m really looking forward to the ball! Had special robes made and all that.”

Harry’d nodded and uttered a quick, “Oh, good.”

Malfoy still hadn’t stirred, and from the looks of it Smith had noticed it too. Unfortunately, he had only noticed and clearly not understood the action.

“What do you think, Malfoy? Shall I wear red robes to the Ministry ball?”

“Do I look like I work at the Madam Walburga House for the fashion challenged?”

Harry is not proud of the way he’d reacted to that statement.

Because he had burst out laughing, surprising not only himself, and everyone in the room but also Malfoy.

Smith had looked like he was going to slit Malfoy’s and his throat in their sleep.

And since then, Smith has loathed and despised Draco, and by association, Harry.

***

The Talbot case is still open and still the most important one they have right now but the last two days of searching through witness statements about Sophie’s life rather than her death - her work habits and her favourite restaurants and shops, her favourite pass times - has put a little distance between them and the horror of it all.

They haven’t given up, not at all, but without any new information all that remains to be done is sorting through the dozens of statements they’re getting every few hours.

For the first time in over a week, they’ve both had a good night’s sleep in their own beds rather than the sofa in the office. And it shows on both their faces.

Draco’s actually feeling much better this morning than he has in some time, the weight of Sophie’s death still on his mind but it’s not overtaking everything else, for a change.

This may have something to do with the owl that’d been waiting for him when he got home last night.

Peeking up from his pile of family statements, Draco watches Harry for a moment. He’s completely engrossed in his own pile but he looks much more relaxed and fresh than he has since this case started. He wonders if Harry had a full night’s sleep as well. He probably did, if the not so stiff line of his shoulders is any indication.

Harry’s eyes snap to him when Draco clears his throat, and he raises his eyebrows in question.

For a moment, Draco thinks about teasing him for still failing to raise only one eyebrow in curiosity but thinks better of it, He doesn’t want to sit here and be asked questions about whether father would give him lessons as a child on how to raise that eyebrow to express different emotions with varying intensity. Again.

“So guess who sent me an owl yesterday? Completely out of the blue.”

Harry pushes the pile away from him a little, leaning with his chin cradled in his hands. “Was it Goyle, asking to be reinstated as your backing chorus singer?”

“You’re not funny. I know you think you are but you’re not.”

He shrugs like he doesn’t care that Draco’s just insulted him. Well, to be fair, Harry is funny. Really funny in that dry, sarcastic way that would make anyone else look like a right prick but not him with his brightly shining eyes and mischievous grin.

Not that Draco’s ever going to admit it to anyone, much less the bastard himself, currently smirking at him. He’s probably reading Draco’s mind right now and knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“Potter!”

“What?”, he asks all innocent and surprised like he didn’t just mock Draco for his choice of friends during adolescence. 

“I said guess who owled me.”

“And I said Goyle.” Not a hint of humour on his face, but Draco’s learned to read his eyes over the years and they’re twinkling with mirth.

“Piss off.”

“Just tell me then.”

“That’s not how it wor--Merlin, fine. It was Pansy.”

“Oh?” Curiosity colours his features almost instantly at the mention of her name, which makes Draco wonder.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised. I know you met with her after she stormed off.”

There’s that tightness around his mouth that shows up when he’s dying to say something but his recently developed mouth filter may be preventing him from yelling all his thoughts from rooftops. “Did she tell you that?”

“She may have done. Why are you surprised by that?”

“No reason, just--she seemed very reluctant to meet with me in public. And she seemed pissed at you after your joke about her children so I didn’t expect her to get in touch.”

“Yes, well, we aren’t back to being best mates just yet, so hold your unicorns.”

He gives himself a pat on the back when Harry’s face splits into a goofy grin at Draco’s deliberate butchering of the muggle idiom. He’d noticed early on that instead of getting frustrated like Hermione did, Harry found it amusing whenever Draco struggled with something muggle.

Over the years, he’s gotten better at learning all things muggle but that doesn’t stop him from deliberately messing it up sometimes just to see that idiotic smile on Harry’s idiotic face.

Sighing, he comes back to the topic at hand. “Pansy and Blaise distanced themselves from me after the war because being seen with me meant social suicide. It was a practical decision, a survival instinct even, and I understand that but…”

Harry wheels his muggle chair closer to Draco till he’s sitting across the desk from him with a very serious expression on his face. “But you felt betrayed because they were your friends. It’s only natural.”

It still amazes him sometimes how well Harry can read him. At times likes these, he wonders if they couldn’t have been on the same side of the war if things were different.

_No, there’s no sense in thinking such things._

“Merlin, I knew working with you would result in dire consequences and here I am being a Gryffin--”

“Don’t say it!”

“--dork.”

The quill hits him right on the nose, leaving a trail of black ink down his right cheek. “Potter, you utter--”

He’s leaping across the desk but before he can get his hands on Harry and push his stupid face into the spilt ink on his desk, the bastard’s apparated and set off the _Anti Unlawful Apparition_ alarms or otherwise known as AUAs which are now ringing shrilly and obnoxiously throughout the Ministry, deafening them all.

“POTTER!”

And of course, that’s Robards storming down the hallway and towards their office because Harry bloody Potter is the only known wizard who can apparate through the century-old wards that the rest of them can barely poke at.

“It better not be you, you stubborn arsed prick!”, Robards' voice bellows merely audible over the earsplitting sound of the bloody alarms. 

Upon entering the office and seeing Draco stood over his desk with ink on his face and hands clenched into fists around thin air, he sighs. The look on his face is that of a parent who is sick and tired of reprimanding their child about leaving toys about only to stumble on more toys in the middle of the night.

“Send him to me when he shows his face, will you?”

Draco nods and goes to fetch his wand to clean his ink-splattered face, trying not to think ill of the idiot he works with.

Well, Robards can wait because he’s going to kill Harry when he sees him next.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you were close in guessing who will break first and when and how, but maybe this chapter will change your mind? Or perhaps, it'll only make you more sure...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I lied. But I'm back now so, let's just forgive and forget, okay? Okay. On you go!
> 
> Notes:  
> The case is heavily based on a murder case on Castle, as I already mentioned. 
> 
> ***** = Flashback; there is a major flashback scene in this chapter where Harry and Draco discuss strong themes like torture, being made to do things forcefully etc. and once again, it should serve as a background prop to help picture how they got to the point in their partnership where they are now. Hope it does that.

A new suspect in the Talbot case emerges when it becomes clear that a man had indeed accompanied her to her home the night she was killed. He is described as handsome and someone who was very charming.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t help the aurors identify him.

They struggle for a full day, trying to get witnesses to work with sketch people but nothing comes of it. Nothing till a junior auror notices something unusual. 

“The winning ticket that Ms. Talbot had in her desk drawer was purchased from a shop in Diagon Alley, except the owner of the shop doesn’t think that was her ticket.”

He and Draco look at each other, eyebrows raised in question, and then back at Junior Auror Ryan. The man continues, “I spoke to the shop owner yesterday and she said something that bothered me. She was away from England for weeks, in fact the last day she spent here was the day Ms. Talbot got her ticket.”

“Go on.”

“Well, she said that Ms. Talbot usually got the same numbers which she did that day too. But this time, she had a friend with her who also bought a ticket. This friend seemed to be one of those people who do arithmetic calculations to decide which ticket would win while Ms. Talbot picked her and her sister’s birthday as the numbers.”

Draco’s running toward his desk and shuffling around papers looking for something, before Harry gets a chance to go to his desk. Draco makes a sound of frustration, fingers flying over the piles of paper before they stop.

“Aha! Let’s look at the dates.” He reads something off slowly, mumbling to himself but Harry already knows the answer. And sure enough, Draco waves the paper in the air and yells, “This is not her ticket!”

Junior Auror Ryan has the address of the friend who went with Sophie to get the tickets. When they arrive at the house, there’s a notice on the door saying the house has been foreclosed after the death of the owner.

Junior Auror Ryan turns to them with wide eyes and whispers, “Do you think Ms. Talbot killed the real lottery winner?”

Draco’s staring at the notice, doesn’t bother looking up and doesn’t bother answering so Harry answers, “We don’t know that yet.”

He’s about to suggest that they go to the medical examiner’s to see what they can find on the owner’s death when he feels a hand grip his wrist. Startled, he looks down to see Draco’s fingers around his hand and his eyes fly to his partner.

Draco points toward the notice on the door and says, “There’s a forwarding address on that notice, same last name as the owner of this place.”

And that’s how they catch Lionel Hunnings, the brother of Alicia Hunnings who was a dear friend of Sophie Talbot and who died in a bad apparition accident two days after her ticket won the lottery.

Lionel believed her sister had been killed by someone - which they discover to be a baseless belief as the examiner confirms it to be an accident - and in retracing her last steps, Lionel figured out about the lottery tickets and about Sophie. So, he pretended to meet her for a date, pretended to like her and then gained access to her house. When she went to get a drink for them, he _reducio_ ’ed her safe and found the money in there along with Sophie’s original tickets.

When she came back, he confronted her. She admitted to lying about the ticket after she found out about Alicia’s accident and expressed remorse and guilt but he didn’t believe her.

And in a fit of rage, Lionel E. Hummings murdered Sophie Talbot and left with her safe and five thousand galleons on the night of the twentieth.

*****

“I know that He tortured you--”

Malfoy’s voice breaks over the words as he begs: “Please stop.”

He snaps his mouth shut right away. He’s been in this same position before, where someone has said something that he wasn’t ready for or he’s been cornered into an unwanted conversation, and he’ll be damned if he ever does that to someone.

No, he understands what it feels like to be backed into a corner like that so he’s going to shut up and sit here with his pint and wait till Malfoy makes the first move.

It’s a long, heavy silence and it hangs thickly between them until it doesn’t.

“I haven’t--I never told anyone about that.” Malfoy’s voice is low, barely audible in the loud banter of the pub around them. “Mother knows that there were times when I was forced to do things but she doesn’t know the details.”

Here, he laughs humorlessly. It should raise some flags for Harry that he recognizes that laughter and knows that a painful confession is coming next but he’s always been good at being wilfully ignorant. It’s been his defence mechanism for too long.

Malfoy continues: “Didn’t have the heart to tell mother that her own sister _Crucio_ ’ed her son to make him stronger. Bellatrix was--she was a truly sadistic witch. I know that everyone knows that but there’s a difference between knowing and seeing it in someone’s eyes as they hold a wand over your heart and watch you writhing on the floor--”

He cuts off abruptly, throat working hard to swallow and Harry feels an unrelenting need to reach over and touch him. He doesn’t because it’s not his place.

They sit in another subdued silence, this time Malfoy’s eyes are firmly on the table in front of him. Shielded and yet vulnerable like they weren’t a moment ago. “That wasn’t the only time, of course. The Dark Lord himself quite enjoyed teaching me self defence, as they called it. And to make sure I was up to the fight; those were the difficult lessons because I had to prove my readiness by hurting others.”

Harry can sense how difficult it is for Malfoy to say all this aloud, he can see the way his hands are clenched around his pint. Harry remembers clenching his hands into fists to keep them from shaking whenever someone would start talking about Cedric’s death.

Across the table, Malfoy takes a shaky breath and continues: “And as much as I bragged about wanting to hurt and kill muggles as a child, I couldn’t actually do it when they handed me a wand and put me in front of defenseless muggles. I can still hear Bellatrix laughing cruelly and the Dark Lord standing behind me hissing instructions in my dreams sometimes. Those are the hardest nights to get through.”

Before he knows he’s doing it, Harry’s nodding along to Malfoy’s confession and inadvertently disclosing more to Draco Malfoy about his sleepless nights than anyone who’s been worried about him and constantly asked him how he’s doing. He’s just told Draco Malfoy more than he has Ron or Hermione or Mrs. Weasley about his nightmares.

Well, he’s come so far, he reckons. “I have nightmares about the Room of Requirement sometimes, see you falling off my broom and into the fire. Watching your face turn into Cedric’s as you fall usually jerks me awake.”

Malfoy nods consideringly, his brain is probably asking the same question as Harry’s: _what does that mean?_

He’s been wondering the same thing for years now; sometimes while sitting up in bed - after jerking awake - surrounded by the haunting silence of the night, and sometimes in the light of day when his brain decides to run away with itself.

Except Malfoy’s answer makes much more sense than his own mindless, sometimes paranoid ramblings. “Something about people you think you should’ve saved but couldn’t which is stupid because as much as you’ve been dubbed The Saviour, it’s not your responsibility to save anyone.”

For the first time tonight, they disagree on something and Malfoy does a good job of realizing that or else he’s still an insensitive jerk who scoffs at people’s very serious moral crises.

And Harry knows that that’s not true because the next words out of the git’s mouth are: “Are you seriously implying that it’s somehow your fault that Diggory died? Or that I was a playtoy for Bellatrix and the Lord of Twats? You can’t be serious!”

Harry shrugs because yes, that is what he’s implying. Because it’s true.

He can’t say anything because he hasn’t been able to voice his guilt for years and he hasn’t magically healed after just one conversation with Malfoy.

“And how exactly would you have saved Diggory when you were fourteen years old faced off against the man who led to your parents’ death and the darkest wizard of all time?”

“I could’ve...I could’ve fought harder.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, I--I could’ve begged Voldemort to let Cedric go.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I did but--”

“And how could you have saved me, Potter?”

Those words out of Malfoy’s mouth are so out of character - a Slytherin admitting to needing help, it’s unheard of.

He pauses for a moment, collects his thoughts that have scattered in a frenzy over realizing that maybe he couldn’t have done anything for Cedric after all, the sadness and pain aside.

“I could’ve revealed myself in the Astronomy tower the night Dumbledore was killed.”

A sharp intake of breath across the table tells him that Malfoy hadn’t known of his presence in the tower that night. And the subsequent silence tells him that he’s touched a raw nerve.

He keeps his head bowed and his eyes hidden.

“You were there…”

“Yes.”

A long pulse of deafening silence.

“Okay, then. Answer me this: how would you revealing yourself have helped exactly?”

“Maybe Dumbledore would still be alive and if he fought against Voldemort, then maybe Fred would still be alive, and Remus and Tonks and--”

“Because you alone could have taken on Bellatrix, Greyback, The Carrows and me that night? Oh, and also Severus who, in order to maintain his cover, would probably have had to kill you? That’s a bit arrogant, Potter, even for you.”

“Then, I could’ve reached out to you that night in the bathroom. Instead of trying to kill you, I could’ve tried to help you.”

His lips part in surprise but he doesn’t speak. Probably can’t speak because this is the first time they’ve brought up that night since they’ve started working together.

A deep breath and a sigh.

“Perhaps you could have, but perhaps I wouldn’t have told you what was wrong even if you asked. Perhaps, I would’ve cast _Avada Kedavra_ at you for thinking me weak. Perhaps, I really meant that Cruciatus I cast and if it’d hit you, you’d be the one on the floor. _Perhaps_ , Potter.”

Harry can tell from looking into his steel gray eyes that no, he wouldn’t have AK’d Harry. He can also tell that if he had somehow gotten over their animosity and tried to help Draco, the scared seventeen year old boy in that bathroom would’ve laughed in his face and sent him away not out of cruelty but because he genuinely feared for his own life and his parents’. And he completely and utterly believed that the only way to keep himself and his parents alive was by doing whatever was asked of him.

And that did not include letting Harry Potter save him.

So maybe Harry really couldn’t have helped him.

“Are you finally getting it through your thick skull that you’re not responsible for saving us all? I can see some sense trickling into those stupid eyes.”

Harry’s left shaking his head and hiding a smile behind his pint. “Stupid eyes?”

“All of you is stupid, Potter.”

He gets the feeling that Malfoy isn’t telling him something and that it’s something important.

What he doesn’t know is that he’ll spend the next five years working alongside Malfoy, feeling this exact same way every moment. Like Malfoy isn’t saying something very important.

“Enough with this Gryffindor-esque talk about feelings and emotions. Let’s get on with it and not bother with the past.”

Harry smirks at the blatant disrespect for his house pouring out of his partner’s mouth, but at least it’s half true he thinks.

“So what should we do instead, Malfoy?”

“We should do it the Slytherin way.” A pale hand lifts a half full pint into the air and Malfoy smirks at him. “Here’s to denial and suppression!”

Harry raises his glass and clinks it against Malfoy’s without a word.

_Maybe I should’ve been sorted Slytherin after all._

***** - end flashback

In a recon mission to charter an old and abandoned running ground of human traffickers, the two auror teams assigned to the case get ambushed and find themselves in the middle of a duel between rival families.

They are ordered to stay hidden as best they can until backup arrives.

Harry is itching to crawl out of their hiding spot and go in the midst of the action but he’s already on a warning from Robards - thanks to the stupid _Anti-apparition_ alarm - and knows the next strike will be suspension so he stays put.

Then, a child appears out of nowhere. A child is standing in the middle of curses and hexes being thrown, an Unforgivable uttered somewhere and a loud blast sounding somewhere else and Harry doesn’t care about suspension.

He’s getting off his knees and ready to lunge when something moves beside him and before he knows what’s happening, Draco’s roughly pushing the child aside just as a bright red light strikes him in the back and he collapses to the ground without a single word.

Harry’s numb, absolutely numb and unaware of what he’s doing as he pulls the child off the ground and makes him hide in their previous spot. Then, he turns around and sees his partner lying motionless a few feet away, a pool of blood gathering under his still body.

He feels the hard ground digging into his knees and realizes that he’s fallen. Reaching out a hand, he touches Draco’s face. Gray eyes open sluggishly, stare up at him and Harry feels like a million sensations are running through him at once - he can suddenly feel his hands as they touch Draco’s face, can hear the cries and mayhem around them, can smell fresh blood and a fire somewhere… it feels like being electrocuted.

He snaps back to reality.

“You walked into the middle of a full-fledged duel? What the fuck is wrong with you?! You’re a bloody Slytherin, for god’s sake! Why would you do that, you absolute pillock?”

Draco offers a weak smile, his lips parting as if to say something but before he gets a chance to actually say whatever insult he can think of while bleeding out on the floor of a warehouse, his eyes close and he’s unconscious in Harry’s lap.

Harry’s going to kill him when he wakes up.

***

He leans in and helps the git with the glass of water by his bedside, hands trembling as he holds the glass up to parched lips.

Draco sighs when his head hits the bed again, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Harry watches him silently, he will not be the one to break the silence.

One gray eye pops open, looks right at Harry and closes again as if it never opened in the first place. Harry finds himself huffing in frustration but he still holds the words in.  
Maybe it’s because he’s afraid of what might come out if he lets himself speak.

“Will you stop glaring at me, Potter?”

Now. Now, he can speak.

“I don’t know, will you stop being an eejit?”

The eyes snap open, piercing right through Harry and it’s such a goddamn relief that those eyes are open and full of life and looking at him, that his body actually sags on a rough exhale.

Draco doesn’t say anything, just looks at him. Another one of those looks that makes Harry fall deeper and deeper into the abyss of pain and longing.

“I would never forgive you if you died in some stupid recon mission, bleeding out in my arms.”

Then, he holds his tongue because that’s more than he has allowed himself to say to Draco for years and he thinks it should tell the man in front of him just what’s in his heart.

Draco blinks at him, eyes wide and mouth opening around words that never come because--- “Draco! Mon cœur!”

Harry gets out of the chair and steps aside to let Narcissa get to her son. He stands there in a corner, awkwardly wondering if he should leave or stay.

Narcissa seems to be crying and talking in rapid fire French, sometimes it sounds like she’s weeping over her son’s health and other times, Harry’s sure she’s reprimanding him. _Good_ , he thinks.

“If you ever do this again, I will make you regret it, Draco. And I am not above cutting your hair like the muggles do with a food bowl to make sure every single person in Wizarding England sees you and laughs. You will never live down the embarrassment!”

Harry can’t hold in his laughter and the second the sound comes out, Narcissa Malfoy turns around glaring at him; her son is also looking at him from behind her back with the same fury reflected in his eyes. The two of them make quite a picture.

Harry snaps his mouth shut but it’s too late, Narcissa is already walking toward him with a finger pointed in accusation: “Mr. Potter, if anything ever befalls my son while he is with you, rest assured that I will personally make sure you are never able to reproduce.”

His hands fly to his crotch instinctively, and this time Draco is the one laughing.

Harry can’t afford looking away from Narcissa or he would hex the git. As it is, he’s left to nod and smile - it probably looks like he’s constipated - reassuringly at Narcissa.

***

Draco recovers miraculously fast and despite protests from Narcissa and Harry, he shows up for work next week all prim and proper. No one can even tell that he spent three nights at St. Mungo’s after almost bleeding to death.

Well, at least no one points it out except Zacharias.

“You survived, huh, Malfoy? Looks like you went up against an amatuer then who wasn't very good at taking out--”

Smith’s partner is the first one to flinch as blood lands on his shirt, a millisecond later Smith cries out in pain and clutches his jaw.

Harry’s too numb for any of it to register, there’s a dull ache in his knuckles but he doesn’t bother with it because he has just punched a fellow auror in the face with a dozen witnesses and Smith has always been a coward but Harry’s never laid a finger on him but not this. No, he won’t stand here and listen to Smith saying Draco should’ve died in that mission.

Not when he has spent sleepless nights seeing Draco on that ground, surrounded by a pool of his own blood as life drained out of his still body.

So yes, he has punched Smith. And yes Smith is crying out in agony. And yes, Harry has knocked two of his teeth out.

He doesn’t care.

Someone grips his hand and pulls him away, he looks down dumbly and finds Draco’s hand around his wrist pulling him towards their office. He’s too numb to resist so he lets himself be pulled.

“What were you thinking? Hitting a fellow Auror like that, unprovoked?”

Draco looks at him admonishingly while cradling the bruised knuckles in his hands. Harry can’t bring himself to look anywhere but at his bruised hand held in Draco’s against his chest.

“He did provoke me.”

Draco looks up, eyes burning with anger but he doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “Not that I wouldn’t have hit Smith given half the chance but that was stupid and reckless, even for you, Potter!”

He snatches his hand back, pain coils right up his arm at the action but he doesn’t let it show. Draco’s eyes are even angrier now, he’s staring at Harry with a clenched jaw.

“He was implying that you should’ve died.”

Draco doesn’t speak, just holds his eyes silently urging Harry to drop this. And like every other time, he does because that’s what Draco wants.

Without a word, Harry turns around and goes to his desk. He picks up his wand and casts a healing spell on his hand, without bothering to look at his partner. His wand hand trembles a little because the adrenalin of the situation seems to be seeping out of him and the pain is finally registering.

“Harry…”

He looks up at the sound of his name to find Draco standing much closer, and his eyes are not angry anymore. No, they look soft - much softer. Like someone who’s just woken up and is looking around sleepily on a lazy sunday morning-- _stop it._

He starts when he feels a finger touching his thumb so lightly that he has to look down to confirm that he isn’t imagining it. He isn’t, Draco’s index finger is slowly tracing up his thumb and then up the back of his hand and the inside of his wrist--it’s just so delicate, this touch that Harry can’t help but shiver, can’t help but hold his breath.

Without meaning to, he looks up at Draco’s lips and finds himself biting down on his own.

Merlin, he can’t feel his ears at all. Draco’s finger drags across his pulse on the inside of his wrist, it stops there as Harry’s heart quickens and his pulse jumps under the finger. He’s speaking before he’s aware of it, “You could’ve died.”

His lips move slightly when he whispers, “I didn’t.”

“Could’ve”, Harry argues.

“Didn’t.”

There’s a slight smirk lurking in the corner of that mouth and Harry just wants to--

“Potter!”

They spring apart like they’ve been burnt.

Gawain Robards is standing in the doorway of their office, eyebrows pulled together in a frown and mouth tight in anger as he bites out, “My office. Now.”

He’s gone before Harry can even nod.

Then, Draco’s moving swiftly across the room over to his own desk and Harry knows without even looking that they’re going to pretend the last five minutes didn’t happen.

Sighing, he walks out of the office to get his arse handed to him by Robards. Draco doesn’t make a single sound.

***

The door hasn’t even shut behind them yet when Robards rounds on him with a pointed finger that would’ve taken his eye out if he didn’t wear glasses. Scrambling back from the finger, Harry finds himself on the end of a very stern glare before Robards sighs and turns around to walk over to his desk.

Harry knows he’s in deep shit but this isn’t the first time things have gotten physical in the Auror department so why is he acting like this is the worst thing to have ever happene--

“Explain yourself!”

He flinches at the sudden command but manages to make it look like he was just stepping back. “Sir, I--”

“No, you know what? Don’t speak. Let me talk.”

He looks at Robards confusedly, not sure if he should nod or speak or just shut up. Seeing as how Robards is agitatedly pacing behind his desk, Harry opts to shut up and wait for the man to speak.

It’s quite nerve-wracking, he realises, waiting in your superior’s office for a dressing down while said superior wears down the carpet and makes vaguely distressed sounds.

He wants to say something, just apologize and get out of here but Robards stops pacing and all of a sudden, Harry feels like he should run for his life because the way Robards is looking at him right now--

“You and your little crush on Malfoy has cost me so many galleons and more than a few gray hair!”

Blind panic shoots through him and he’s sure that if he looks down, he’ll see his heart on the ground between his feet, thrashing about on the floor and all he can do is make a sound like a dying kneazle.

“Ah-ah, don’t interrupt me, Potter! And don’t you dare say you don’t know what I’m talking about. The whole department knows! Hell, the Minister himself knows!”

“I--”

“We’ve all seen you following him around like a lost puppy, and we’ve seen the sad little looks you keep giving him when you think no one’s looking. Oh, someone’s looking!”

He is going to have a heart attack at the tender age of twenty three.

It’ll be in the Prophet tomorrow morning: Harry Potter dies of heart failure under mysterious circumstances, Head Auror Robards says it was very sudden and he was only talking about Harry’s pathetic cru--- 

“Sir!”

“No, Potter. This is the limit, you can’t go around punching people if they say anything even a little offensive to your partner. He’s a grown man, I’m sure he can defend himself! And you need to take control of things, son. I mean, how long are you going to keep pining after him?”

He’s absolutely dumbstruck. How is this happening? Is Gawain Godewinus Eaduin Robards giving him advice about his love life right now?

Yes. Yes, he is.

Robards has just told him that he knows Harry is in love with Draco.

“What?”, is all he can manage.

Robards comes around and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. Godric, it’s so surreal to have Robards patting his shoulder like a worried uncle that Harry’s brain has completely exited his body.

“Harry, if I may?”

He nods weakly.

“I know Smith can be a bit of a prick sometimes, but you can’t just knock his teeth out in front of a room full of aurors and not expect to be suspended. I’m letting it go this time. But you find a better way to sort out your erm--sexual frustrations.”

He’s sure he sounds like a whistling kettle right now but Robards doesn’t seem to notice or doesn’t want to address it. He just pats Harry on the back once before crossing back over to the other side of his desk.

“Just work it out with him. I don’t want to see anymore teeth on the floor. Dismissed.”

***

“What’d he say?”

Harry looks up and realizes he’s walked back to the office without really noticing. Draco’s watching him with raised eyebrows, maybe he’s said something.

“What?”

Draco sighs through his nose and points toward the door Harry’s just walked in through. “Robards, what did he say?”

 _He said he knows I’ve got a hopeless crush on you_ \--shut up!

“Oh, erm--just a bit of dressing down.” Merlin, he can feel himself burning up and more likely than not, it’s clear on his face that that’s what is happening. He shakes off the nervousness, or at least tries to, and goes to sit behind his desk.

It’s all very mechanical, he reckons, since his brain hasn’t really recovered from what just happened in Robards’ office.

Apparently, that’s not enough of an answer for his partner who crosses the room in quick strides and comes to stand beside Harry’s desk with a cocked hip.

He has to look up, Harry has to look up or it’ll be weird with Draco standing right there within touching distance and when he does look up--yup, those damn eyes are following every little movement. Draco looks skeptical and sounds even more so: “That’s it? No formal action?”

Harry shakes his head.

“Then why do you look like you’ve just seen a feral werewolf?”

For a second, Harry thinks how that would be preferable to what’s just happened. How he’d rather see a feral werewolf and go against it in a few rounds than find out that his direct supervisor, along with the entire Auror Department, knows about his little situation with Draco.

And Kingsley! _Oh Godric, could Death just take him now?_

“Potter!”, snaps Draco with impatience colouring his tone.

“Nothing, I just--it’s nothing.”

“Has anyone ever told you what a shit liar you are?”

He has to shake it off, Draco won’t stop pestering him otherwise and he really can’t afford to let Draco get bullheaded about this.

An unbidden image of Draco barging into Robards’ office demanding answers comes to him. Merlin, Robards would most likely be annoyed enough to tell Draco what he said to Harry and then--

“My hand’s hurting. Smith’s stupid jaw broke a knuckle or something most likely.”

He feels a rough grip around his wrist pulling his hand up and without even asking him, Draco’s casting a wandless healing spell the likes of which St. Mungo’s staff would be envious of. A soft warmth spreads over his hand, and the dull ache that Harry had forgotten about in the midst of other pressing concerns, disappears instantly.

Draco pulls his hand back and without waiting for a thanks, walks over to his own desk with a muttered, “You are an idiot, Potter.”

Harry puts on a mask of nonchalance and opens his drawer to fetch the paperwork he should’ve finished last week but didn’t because he was too busy staring at the empty desk across the room and pining hopelessly.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? That had some of the best scenes I loved writing, what'd you think?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close to the end now.

_**Flashback**_

The only time Harry has seen his life flash before his eyes post-war was during a joint Task Force mission with the American Magic Bureau in a bid to chase and arrest a smuggling ring operating all over Europe and across the pond.

As the two most successful Junior Aurors in the department, he and Draco had been enlisted to help in the Task Force. Things were going very well, the other members of the force were very nice and they’d all had things to teach each other.

Harry was in the middle of saying how he was glad they’d been picked for this and not Smith when everything went to shit.

The spell had come out of nowhere.

They were on the Euronight from Bucharest to Vienna, observing the two Englishmen the Force suspected to be the ring leaders. They were only supposed to observe and report back, no intervention. There was no reason for them to be worried they’d been made.

And that’s why Harry wasn’t even looking at the person passing by him in the narrow corridor of the train, much less paying attention to the wand clutched in the man’s hand, as Draco’s irritated rant was holding all of his attention.

“--disgusting medley of smells and even more so when it’s packed like a bloody chicken coop--”

Then, he’d heard a thump and he was turning, his wand was out and digging into the man’s throat before he could so much as blink. The man’s eyes had widened as Harry pushed the wand deeper into his skin, subconsciously registering Draco’s body on the floor of the train between them.

He’d wanted to kneel down and check if his partner was alive but he knew he had to focus on their suspect. This man who’d most likely been responsible for more than a dozen deaths in the last three months alone--this man who may have killed Draco.

And that sealed the decision for him, he’d stepped closer to the man and pushed his wand deeper into his throat which had left him coughing. Good.

“If you move an inch, I will blast your head off.”

The man’s eyes had widened at the threat, he probably wasn’t expecting an auror to threaten his life. And the second his eyes had flown to Harry’s scar, fear had trickled in them and it was satisfying beyond belief.

In that moment, with just the two of them around, Harry wanted to kill him.

Instead, he’d waited for the two American officers assigned with them to come down the corridor looking for them since they hadn’t shown up to their scheduled meeting. He waited because he didn’t trust himself to not hurt this man, didn’t trust himself to be professional. And as he waited, he moved a little closer to where Draco’s motionless body lay and he tried to find out if his partner was breathing.

And in the one second he took his eyes off the smuggler to see Draco’s chest rising and falling slowly, the man moved and Harry killed him.

That was the first person he killed as an auror.

That was the first person he killed - with true intention and not a curse rebounding or a shield cast at the last moment - and it was all in the name of Draco Malfoy.

But no one needed to know that, and no one asked him because they all assumed that Harry had killed him in self-defence. They didn’t need to know that Harry’d had a wand to his throat for at least five minutes and he could’ve just arrested him but instead he had stood waiting for the man to cock up.

They didn’t need to know the real reason why he had ended up killing a man.

Hours later, Draco had woken up from a nightmare in his St. Mungo’s bed and had a panic attack because he thought he was back in the Room of Requirement burning to death.

Harry had stood beside his hospital bed, talked him through the blind panic and then sat back down in the rickety chair facing his partner.

“Why do they always get me? Why not you?”, Draco had whined.

“Maybe I’m a better aur--”

“You’d better not finish that sentence,”, Draco had growled in a threatening voice that would’ve been much more effective if he hadn’t yelled himself hoarse just a few minutes ago.

He hadn’t finished the sentence, nevertheless.

He’d tried to lighten the mood. “You were too busy bitching about the food and about Smith, maybe that’s why he went for you.”

“Are you saying it’s my fault I was attacked?”

“Well, I mean...”

“Potter, get outta here!”

He’d be worried that his words had upset the balance of their partnership but by now he could see the subtleties of Draco. He knew this was just banter, and he was glad that his partner had survived for this banter to happen.

“Come on, don’t be an arse,”, he’d retorted playfully.

“That is rich coming from you.” Draco’d scowled at him with cold, unrelenting gray eyes.

“Okay, fine. I’m sorry. Just get some rest,”, he had said at last, conceding.

And when Draco had woken up from another nightmare, screaming and drenched in sweat, Harry had been there with gentle hands and soft words: “Hey, I’m here. It’s okay, you’re fine. I’ve got you, always. I’m here, no matter what. I’m here till you get old and wrinkly, half balding--”

“Fuck you, Potter.”

Draco had never brought up the promises Harry’d made that night to always be there and Harry had never expected him to. He didn’t need to say it again, he knew he was going to be there for his idiot of a partner no matter what.

He’d killed someone for him, after all.

**Flashback end**

Harry’s rushing to finish his report of the Talbot case when all of a sudden he notices the usual ruckus of the Auror department has turned into a deafening hush outside the office doors. Curious, he gets out of his chair and is about to walk out into the bullpen to find out what’s happened--when the door to the office swings open and in walks Narcissa Malfoy.

Stunned, Harry can’t bring himself to move, much less speak.

She stands just inside the door, waiting for Harry to greet her because that would be the polite thing to do. Except, of course, he’s lost his shit at seeing Narcissa Malfoy in his office.

She looks so out of place in her formal and royal-looking robes, and the way she carries herself. Harry can imagine the entire Auror department freezing as they must’ve seen her walk out of the lifts and down the corridor with her aura of elegance and superiority standing in stark contrast to the frankly disgusting smells and noises of the Auror Department.

_Merlin, she’s Draco’s mother and Harry sees her every week if not more often, so why is he so close to drowning in his own sweat right now?_

When he can finally bring himself to shake off the shock and speak, the first words out of his mouth are: “Draco’s not here.”

She smiles at him and moves to sit in her son’s chair. Harry automatically moves to pull the chair out.

She smiles gratefully at him and says, “I know,”, smoothing her robes in her lap. “He told me he would be leaving early today.”

_Then why is she here? Is she here to talk to me? Merlin, does she know how I feel about her son? Oh Godric is she going to threaten me to stay away from--_

“I came to have a word with you, Mr. Potter”, she says in that same lavish drawl as her son.

In response, his voice goes up like a twelve year old stumbling his way through puberty. “Me?!”, he squeaks out pathetically.

“I am here with an invitation. Mr. Potter, you and Mr. Wood shall come to dinner at the Manor. Draco is bringing his Sebastian for dinner the Friday after next, and I’d like you both to join us.”

The first few seconds, he just stands there dumbly staring at her.

Did she really just say that?

_Wait, did she just call him Draco’s Sebastian?_

Then, her raised eyebrows register and he realizes that she’s waiting for his answer. He doesn’t want to go to the Manor. He really doesn’t want to go to the Manor and watch Sebastian and Draco play house.

How can he say this without offending her?

“Oh, erm. I don’t think I can get awa--”

“It does get quite lonely in that big house by myself, Harry. I’d truly cherish the company.”

Her eyes remind him of Draco’s, they are that same gray which turns into molten silver as if on a silent command. And Harry really has always been helpless to say no to them when they’re soft and kind.

“S--sure,”, he manages to say.

Her lips curve in a slight smile and it feels like warmth is literally exuding from her. Harry feels an instantaneous relief course through him and before he can say anything else, she gets up and excuses herself.

“I will see you for dinner then, Mr. Potter. Have a nice day.”

“And you, Mrs. Malfoy,”, he mumbles but she’s already out the door.

Belatedly, he realises that she called him Harry when she wanted something from him and then seamlessly slipped back into a formal facade once she got it.

Which leads him to the uneasy realization that he has just been played.

“Like mother, like son”, he mutters but there’s no one around to hear him say it or sympathise.

***

He’s constantly been thinking about the dinner invitation at the Manor. Since Narcissa left, he’s been sat at his desk every day and staring down at the unfinished report, stunned and unfocused.

He doesn’t want to go.

There are half a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t. Sebastian. Malfoy Manor. Sebastian. Narcissa thinking he’s dating Oliver. Sebastian. Draco and Sebastian.

There might be a bit of repetition there, but you know.

After days spent thinking about it, he’s about to tell Draco that he can’t come but just as he’s gathered enough courage, the git beats him to it.

“So Sebastian and I are going to this muggle place in Éire. He knows someone who runs an old style theme park there, I’m looking forward to it.”

Harry can’t really find his tongue in that moment. He also struggles to breathe, but that’s something he’s been known to do so that doesn’t bother him much. He looks down at the papers on his desk, the letters blurring together so he has to remind himself to blink.

Then, he puts his right hand on his thigh, hidden under the table and nails digging into his palms and the world stops spinning. He looks up, and smiles at his partner.

“That sounds nice.”

Draco looks at him for a second, just looks.

“Yes, I hope so,”, he says and then Harry looks away and forgets all about the dinner at the Manor.

***

On Sunday after the trip to Ireland, Sebastian had come to breakfast.

He’d sat between Draco and Narcissa, smiled at Teddy and complimented Andromeda on her beautiful home and told stories about their muggle weekend in Dingle, Ireland.

Harry had sat in his usual spot, across from Draco, and hadn’t touched a single thing on his plate. Andromeda had noticed and almost yelled at him: “Harry! Why haven’t you touched your food?”

He’d sheepishly hung his head and stared down at the wilting toast and the shrivelled up peas on his plate. One look at the man sat across from him, and Harry had stood up and made excuses about somewhere he needed to be and left.

***

Because of his arseholish behaviour at breakfast this morning, Harry has dug himself into a hole of guilt and shame. And trying to climb out of said hole, he has pushed himself deeper by offering to take Sebastian and Draco to dinner tonight as a chance to spend some time together.

Sebastian, oblivious of what this morning’s breakfast exit was about, has agreed and is currently sitting across from Harry at the newest fancy restaurant that everyone’s talking about.

Harry’d had to owl a few people to get a table but he’d managed it. And the quiet chatter in here, the very polite staff and the actually good wine all point toward it being a good decision.

Next to Sebastian, Draco is looking down at his menu and completely and intentionally avoiding Harry. It’s possible he knows exactly why Harry’d behaved like a dick this morning. The warmth from a moment ago seeps out of his skin leaving him shivering like he’s standing in a field of snow without any robes on.

This is a mistake, Harry realizes about three minutes into being seated.

***

Just as he’s putting his coat on to leave, Sebastian walks over to him and gestures to go outside. Harry turns to see Draco busy talking to the hostess so he follows Sebastian outside, curious as to what he wants. Their server smiles at them once again and Harry thinks he’d like to come here again sometime.

Once they step out onto the street, Sebastian walks over to a bench and leans against it; his previous casualness seems to disappear instantly, replaced by hesitancy. He looks at Harry and bites his lip, then looks away.

A few moments pass before he looks back at Harry, this time with a determination in his features. He says, “Harry, you won’t mind if Draco and I go on a real date, would you? I mean, I think there’s something there and I’d really like to see where it goes.”

Even as the words come out of Sebastian’s mouth, Harry feels a heavy weight on his chest, like something’s gotten a hold of his heart - gripped between crushing fingers - and is pulling it out. For a second, it feels like this is a dream, like Sebastian hasn’t really asked him this but then a group of students walks by them laughing loudly and that sound brings Harry back from his own thoughts, none too gently.

He looks up at the man beside him; Sebastian is staring at him curiously, and Harry really can’t believe this is happening. His fingers itch to do something, he’s not sure what.

“Erm--you, oh.”

Sebastian doesn’t seem to notice the blind panic on Harry’s face or maybe he mistakes the hesitance for something else because he jumps to defend himself, “Yeah, I know. I was really surprised too. I mean, I usually don’t want the whole dating part but with him, it’s different. Y’know?”

Harry sees Sebastian looking at something behind him, and he turns around to follow his gaze to find it on Draco who’s inside the restaurant still talking to someone, visible through the glass. Sebastian is watching Draco, his hands moving in elegant gestures as he speaks to one of the staff, smiling and making her blush without even meaning to and making that ache in Harry’s chest that much sharper.

He looks absolutely beautiful, like he always does. And Harry knows what Sebastian means, of course he does. “Yes,”, he finds himself saying in answer to Sebastian’s rhetorical question.

“So yeah, I’m going to ask him tonight and I think he’d like that too.”

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Harry turns to face Sebastian and pats him on the shoulder. “Well, good. I’m--I’m happy for you.”

Inside he’s feeling like he’s being ripped in two, but anyone passing by would never know. They’d see a soft smile, maybe if they look closely they’ll the pain in his eyes but he hangs his head. Snaps his eyes shut for a moment and clenches his hand into a fist behind his back, so no one can see.

Draco looks up through the glass front of the shop suddenly, and his eyes lock on Harry’s.

They stay like that for a moment, and Harry feels that very familiar heat spreading through his chest but then like always, Draco looks away and Harry’s left wanting.

Well, not for much longer.

Sebastian’s hand comes down on his shoulder, “Thanks, mate.”

He smiles at Sebastian again, makes some half-hearted excuse about drinking too much and flooing safely but Sebastian’s hand is on his arm stopping him: “He’ll just be coming out, Harry. Wait just one second, he’ll want to say goodnight.”

Sebastian turns to look at the door then to see where Draco is and when he turns back, Harry is already gone.

***

Monday brings a whole new day, yet Harry’s not sure how he feels about that because he hasn’t really grasped the whole idea of passing time. He doesn’t feel like it’s a new day at all, just feels like it’s an extension of the misery filled hours of yesterday.

Or maybe that’s just because he’d gone home from dinner and raided the little drinks cupboard he has and hadn’t really bothered with a glass.

The whiskey he’s been hoarding in his flat since the first time he’d realized what that incessant gnawing in the pit of his stomach every time he was around his new partner meant, had called his name and he’d emptied the half-full bottle within minutes. It hadn’t been enough so in his half pissed state, a genius idea had come to mind.

Kreacher had been shocked to see Harry at Number 12 Grimmauld place in the middle of the night, raiding the cellar for age old whiskey that’s probably worth thousands of galleons. The elf hadn’t been impressed with how drunk Harry was and his insistence on flooing despite the alcohol swimming in his blood.

He had splinched himself, almost tore his shoulder off but that hadn’t stopped him. The elf had followed him to his flat, tumbling out of the fireplace and rushing to his side to cast blindingly powerful elf magic on his bloody arm.

And while his skin was being knit together, he’d sat on that armchair in the lobby with Kreacher standing beside him muttering incantations. His drink addled brain hadn’t even fully registered the pain but the tutting from the elf’d told Harry it was quite bad.

Instead of looking down, he’d taken a swig from the ancient bottle clutched in his hand and muttered, “I didn’t know you cared, Kreacher.”

The elf hadn’t looked up from his arm and he hadn’t bothered to answer Harry till he’d finished patching him up. A sheen of tickling warmth on his skin had told him that he was completely healed.

And when he’d looked down, the only sign of anything amiss was the blood on his shirt.

“Master Harry is being stupid,”, the elf had announced with a sneer on his face and what looked like concern masked heavily with anger.

Harry hadn’t been able to stop himself from scoffing and laughing humorlessly. “Oh, Master Harry has been pretty fucking stupid for four years, Kreacher! Or is it five? Ah, feck it!”

The elf had tried wrestling the bottle away from him but even in his inebriated state with his newly repaired arm, Harry had clutched it like a lifeline. And then Kreacher had gone back into the fireplace mumbling about stupid children with too much power.

Harry had stayed on that armchair till the wee hours of the morning, in fact he’d only gotten up when the little alarm clock had gone off. He’d sat there with the alcohol slowly disappearing out of his system, leaving him with only a slight haze made worse by the solitude of the night.

He couldn’t help but fall down that old, familiar rabbit hole of despair and longing that he can remember tumbling into as a child in that cupboard under the stairs. Back then, he used to stay up at nights and imagine what it’d be like if his parents hadn’t died. Then, after Hogwarts, he’d started thinking about bringing them back somehow.

After Hogwarts, he’d found himself wondering if he’d ever feel at home in his own skin. If he’d ever feel like he had a home, a family. If there would ever be someone who wouldn’t abandon him.

So, in the wee hours of the night, he’d sat there wishing his mum and hadn’t died to save him, so they could be here with him now. Wishing he’d grown up with a loving family so he could be like normal people and not be so scared of being abandoned once again. Wishing that Draco wouldn’t abandon him, till he’d fallen asleep to dreams of Lily Potter listening to her son’s whining about his partner, and James’ advice to _just go for it, son! I did, and look how lucky I was..._

And now he’s here, in the Ministry lift - still smelling of whiskey, no doubt. The way the lift lurches on every level hurts him, makes him want to kill himself but he hangs on.

Like an obedient employee, he bows his head till he gets to his level and gets out without meeting anyone’s eyes. He’s no doubt he looks like an alcoholic bastard showing up for work still pissed but thankfully no one seems to want to mention it aloud.

As he walks through the bullpen and towards his office, the loud noises of the aurors make him want to jump out of one of the windows but he resists. Then, as soon as he walks through the door and sees Draco behind his desk, that feeling comes back a hundred times stronger.

His partner’s sitting there in all his glory, all proper and perfect with his creased trousers and his impeccable robes. Harry knows he looks like shit but would it be too much to ask for common courtesy? Would it too much to ask that Draco’s eyes not widen in shock at the state of him, that he not rush out of his chair and toward Harry like he’s a hobo showing up in a private office and needs to be escorted out? Is that too much to ask--

“Harry, you’re bleeding! Why the fuck are you bleeding?!!”

Oh.

He had forgotten to scourgify his shirt from last night.

Draco’s hands are on him all of a sudden, assessing his body for injuries before fingers fly to the buttons and deftly pull the shirt off his right shoulder as he stands there completely stunned.

He can feel ice cold fingers on his warm skin, can feel goosebumps rising up on bared flesh as those fingers trace over perfectly unmarred skin.

“Where’s that blood from? Where are you hurt?”, Draco demands in a sharp voice.

When he doesn’t answer, Draco’s hand comes up and roughly lifts his chin. Their eyes meet and the very next second, he feels it - Draco’s hand is trembling.

It reminds him of his dream where he’d had his head in his mum’s lap while she carded her fingers through his messy hair all the while telling him he shouldn’t be scared of people abandoning him.

That jump starts his heart and he realizes where he is.

And as soon as he does, he’s pulling away from insistent yet gentle fingers and taking several steps back till he’s out of Draco’s reach.

He can clearly see hurt flashing across those pale eyes but it’s gone as soon as it came and Harry doesn’t bother reacting to it. He shrugs the shirt back over his shoulder and starts buttoning it up, eyes on the floor in front of him. He says, “I’m not hurt, it was a slight accident.”

“Slight accident that soaked your shirt in blood?”, Draco asks impatiently.

“Yes well, it’s okay now.”

He doesn’t look up even though he can feel Draco watching him. He doesn’t look up when all of a sudden it feels like the room is bone-chillingly cold. He doesn’t look up when he hears Draco walking away towards his desk silently.

And that marks the beginning of the unspoken bitter coldness that replaces the warmth that used to be this room and this partnership.

***

By Wednesday, they’ve come so far that it feels like they’re not even in the same room. Draco hasn’t looked at him once since Harry gave him the cold shoulder Monday morning.

It’s a blessing that they haven’t been assigned any active cases this week because it’s always pure hell working on a case when they’re not talking. And Harry’s sure they’ve never fought like this before.

They’ve had angry, raging fights before where they said things they really shouldn’t have and things that can’t be taken back.

They’ve had dirty, filthy, physical fights before where they’ve broken noses and jaws and come out bloody and bruised.

They’ve had petty fights where they’ve argued for days about something so trivial it’s unbelievable.

But they’ve never fought like this.

Never fought with silence before all this strange marriage business started.

Never fought without reason.

So it’s no surprise that it feels so final.

Then again, he reckons, it was bound to happen with so many unsaid things hanging in the air between them.

 

_**Flashback starts**_

 

“Here comes the great Saviour, Harry Potter - he of the Roonil Wazlib fame!”

Even Ron laughs. Ron, who hates Draco with every fibre of his being.

Harry’s caught halfway between being annoyed and being even more smitten by his drunk idiot of a partner. Shaking his head, he looks down at said idiot: “Why are you pissed at ten in the morning?”

Draco lifts a shaking finger and points it at Harry--well, he tries to but it’s actually pointed five inches to the right of Harry’s face so he leans down and corrects it while Draco slurs out, “The question is, why are you not?”

“Okay, Hemingway.” Harry sighs and sits down beside the git, knowing full well that this is going to take a while.

Ron waves goodbye and disappears to let his mate deal with this so that leaves just Harry and Draco. A royally pissed Draco when the day hasn’t even started properly so Harry closes his eyes and tells himself to breathe. To calm down and focus on the situation at hand.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”, he asks softly.

For a moment, just one moment, Draco turns his head to look at him and those eyes, the molten silver in them, look right at Harry and he forgets where he is. Then, Draco’s head lolls unstably where it’s resting on the back of the sofa and the moment breaks.

And just like that, Harry’s left feeling like he’s been robbed.

“Nothing”, Draco says, “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just being overdramatic, like you always accuse me of being.”

That’s what tells Harry that something serious has happened. Draco would never say something like this otherwise, he’d never let Harry win so easily or so willingly. And he’s never going to tell Harry what’s wrong either if he asks so he does the next best thing.

“I’m here if you need me. For whatever it is.”

All he gets in response is a vague nod or at least that’s what he thinks it is when Draco’s head plunks back onto the back of the sofa.

*****

It’s only months later that he realises it was the day Dumbledore had been killed.

 

_**Flashback ends**_

On Thursday, Robards sends them a note to come to his office: strictly worded with no chance of a negotiation. 

Harry feels a sudden anxiety taking root within him as flashes of his last meeting with Robards come to mind. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Draco getting out of his chair and walking toward the door, a copy of the same note on his desk. 

He doesn’t wait for Harry and walks right out of the office. 

When Harry gets himself under enough control to do this and nervously makes his way down the corridor through the bullpen, he feels eyes on him. Everyone’s watching, they’re curious as to why Draco and he are going the same way separately when usually they’d be walking down the hall side by side laughing or bickering loudly enough to earn a few _tsk_ s. 

He can feel Smith’s derision without even looking, can sense the shit grin on the bastard's face. _This is what you get when you mix your personal life with your professional_ , he hears Hermione’s voice in his head. 

Ignoring the stares, he keep walking down the hall till he gets to office. He can’t hear anything on the other side so he lifts his hand and knocks on the heavy oak door, waiting to hear a muffled c _ ome in  _ before walking in. 

Robards is behind his desk looking up at Harry as he enters, and Draco is sitting across from him on the left chair so Harry quietly sits on the right. This is the closest he and Draco have been in four days, and he tries his best to not let that show. 

His posture - a stiff back and a stiffer lip - reflects his partner’s perfectly. And it’s clear from the way Robards’ eyes flick between the two of them that he’s noticed there’s something different than the usual easy banter between his two best Aurors. 

Harry could risk a glance at Draco from the corner of his eye but he doesn’t. Somehow, it feels wrong. 

The silence stretches out ominously, and Harry’s about to ask Robards why they’re here but Draco gets to it first with a polite but impatient, “Sir?” 

Robards almost starts like he was deep in thought and has been disturbed by Draco. He clears his throat to cover up the embarrassment probably. “Right, well.” 

He has a case for them. 

He wants them to go get dinner at a Irish pub in Galway, not undercover but very vigilant, and collect whatever information they can. Someone has been saying things and Robards wants to know who and how much of it is true. 

“So just go as mates, y’know, just lads. Get dinner there, a pint, and see what you can find out. Keep your ears and eyes open but don’t come across too strong, just blend in.” 

One look at Draco’s face and Harry can tell he wants to do this just as much. 

Which is not much. 

“Erm, sir?” 

“What’s it, Potter?”, Robards snaps irritatedly. 

“Why are we being put on a case that Patrol could take?”

“Because some twat made a hoax call about an attack on the Puddlemore squad and now the Patrol Department is busy watching all their players. And before you ask, everyone else in our department is already on active cases.”

“Puddlemore, sir?” His voice breaks a little at the thought of Oliver getting hurt. Given how much time they’ve spent together thanks to the stupidity of the man sitting next to him right now, Harry counts Oliver as a close friend these days. He’d be just as worried if Dean or Neville were under threat, he feels the need to justify to himself.  

Robards sounds suspicious when he asks, “Yeah, why?” 

As much as they haven’t shared a single word in days, Harry can’t deny that he and Draco exist on a very different wavelength than everyone else around them, meaning they haven’t really needed words to know what the other is thinking in the better part of three years now. Which means he can sense the unrest and hostility on his left without even having to look. 

The thing is though, he doesn’t care right now. 

“Has there been an actual attack, sir?” 

“No, like I said it was found to be a hoax. Most likely started by a supporter of another team in order to distract the players. Bloody Magpies most likely, if you ask me. They’ve always played dirt--” 

He cuts Robards off with a gruff, “So no one has been hurt, then?” 

Before Robards can answer, there’s a soft thud beside him and the next thing they know Draco’s excusing himself from the room so quickly that in the two seconds it takes Harry to turn and look, he’s already gone. 

All Harry sees is the billow of standard issue Auror robes behind his partner as he exits through the door. 

Annoyance courses through him before he even realises what he’s thinking. And what he’s thinking is that Draco has absolutely no reason whatsoever to act like this when he’s been the one pretending for years, he’s been the one denying it all and he’s the one who said it was okay for Harry to go out with Oliver. Bloody hell, Oliver could’ve been seriously hurt so where does that pointy git get off storming out of here like this, what the fuck does he think he’s doing-- “Potter?”, Robards’ rough voice interrupts his thoughts.

He breathes through his nose, turns back to face Robards hoping he doesn’t look as furious as he is. “Yes, sir?” 

“Why did Malfoy just leave like there’s a hippogriff on his arse?” 

He shakes his head and looks down at his fingers, not wanting for the annoyance to show on his face. “I’m not sure, sir.” 

_No reply.  _

He looks up to find himself at the end of a very stern look from Gawain Robards. 

“Potter, what have you done?”, the man asks in a heavy, tired voice. 

“Sir?” 

“When I said sort it out, I didn’t mean make a bloody mess of it.” 

Handling blame has never been Harry Potter’s strong suit and when Robards looks at him with disappointment on his face, well--he doesn’t care that he sounds like an eight year old: “I didn’t do anything!”

“Oh, so you’re telling me you two are always a second away from breaking each other’s noses/casting Unforgivables at each other? Or that Malfoy has always been the ice cold bastard he’s been these last few days?”

Harry’s about to point out that Robards has always said that Draco needs to be more polite and nice to people so this shouldn’t be a surprise to him, but he gets cuts off by his superior officer cursing rather explicitly under his breath. 

Harry gets thrown by the unprofessionalism of the one person who has always been the one to force professionalism on everyone, even the most resistant of people.  

“I mean he’s never been very personable but ever since Monday he’s been unbearable!”, Robards grinds out. “Do you know how many complaints I’ve got about him in three days? Thirteen! Thirteen complaints in three days! Do you know what he did on Level Two yesterday? Got in a fistfight with a uniform who’d jokingly said something about him being high-maintenance. Broke the poor sod’s nose!” 

“Yesterday?”, Harry asks puzzled. 

Robards nods, and then silently watches him with a grave look on his face.Harry can’t help but wonder when Draco’d had a chance to break someone’s nose and why didn’t he notice anyth--oh. His eyes widen when the realization sinks in and he’s sure Robards is watching his face like Snape used to watch bubbling potions - undivided attention. 

Around three, Draco had come back from somewhere and silently settled at his desk. It would’ve been very ordinary if not for the fact that he had raked his hand through his hair--which he’d never even touch a single strand while it was coiffed to look professional. 

Harry hadn’t noticed any bruised knuckles or messed up clothes but then again, he wasn’t really looking. The only reason he’d noticed the hair was because Draco would never touch it unless it was a mess to begin with. 

Ruffled hair might not mean much but for Draco, it was the equivalent of bloody, torn clothes. 

“Potter?”, Robards ventures inquiringly. 

He flushes slightly at having been caught lost in his thoughts again, “Erm, sorry.” 

“Look, just--don’t muck up this case, okay? And it’s a nice pub, maybe a few pints and supper will help you two get over whatever it is you are doing.” 

Harry highly, highly doubts that.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some of you rightly predicted some of this and I'm not sure what that says about my writing...hmm *squints suspiciously*


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that I am not very good at keeping to a schedule so as compensation, here's an extra long chapter. It is so close to the end..
> 
> There is a conversation in another language in this chapter. The translation is pretty basic, can be clearly inferred from context but I'll put the translation in the end tags if you want. Also, if anyone wants to bond over Irish Gaelic, I'm here!

“Dia Duit!”, says an excited voice that makes Harry want to scowl at the owner of said voice. 

 

“Dia is muire duit,”, replies Draco in a much more calm tone. 

 

The boy does a double take until his eyes settle on Draco, surprise very clear in them. Harry can feel the irritation taking a back seat to shock in his mind.

 

They’re on a stupid assignment in a pub pretending to be mates out for a pint. Draco hasn’t so much as looked at him since they apparated to just outside the pub. The git had turned around and started walking down the road toward the loud noises pouring out from the red brick building labeled as the village pub, he hadn’t even held the door for Harry.

 

So Harry’d been left to scramble awkwardly for the door shutting in his face and by the time he’d stepped in, Draco was gone. He’d had to look around for a good minute till he spotted the blond head in the dim light of the pub.

 

And of course, he’s finally walked over to the table to find Draco talking to the waiter in Gaelic. Of course. 

 

Harry pulls out a chair and settles himself in it as the waiter lingers and talks to his git of a partner, paying no attention to him. Harry has no idea what he’s saying but he sounds surprised and like he’s asking a question: “Labhraíonn tú gaeilge?”

 

In response, Draco smiles. Harry hasn’t seen him smile in days, and even then not like this. It makes another spark of irritation zip through him as the git replies with a winning smile, “Gaeilge briste.”

 

The waiter, who really should be waiting on them rather than being all chatty, breaks out into a smile of his own and Harry really doesn’t want to be here right now. He looks around the place, eyes raking across faces trying to identify any familiar ones as the waiter still lingers and says something to Draco. “Tá a fhios agat cad a deir siad: Is fearr Gaeilge bhriste ná Béarla cliste!”

 

He turns around just in time to see Draco shooting the waiter a dazzling smile.

 

It’s good for their cover, he knows that rationally. Trouble is he isn’t very rational right now, not with the two shots of whiskey already in his system form when he’d hurried home and gone straight for the bottle - already anticipating this evening to be a pain.

 

So yeah, rational thinking is a bit of a challenge for him right now and he doesn’t particularly care how unprofessional he seems. They’re in a bloody pub, for fuck’s sake!

 

His partner seems to have clued into that fact, if the way he tenses the very next second is any sign, and that smile all but evaporates as his gray eyes land on Harry for a quick moment before skittering away again.

 

Harry can tell his face isn’t very welcoming right now, and he doesn’t really care. They are here for work and not to flirt with the workers and Harry’s got zero patience to deal with any of this right now.

 

Finally, the waiter catches on because he turns to Harry with that generic customer care smile and asks, “Ce chaoi 'bhfuil tu?”

 

“I don’t speak Irish.”

 

Hi face transforms into something of an apology and he rushes to say, “Oh, I’m sorry, I assumed--uh, my name’s Séan, I’ll get yer order. Ready for drinks?”

 

Harry quickly rattles off his order of a neat whiskey before turning to Draco with a raised eyebrow. Once the drinks are ordered, Séan goes on his merry way leaving the two of them in an awkward silence.

 

A few minutes pass without a single word, Draco doesn’t look like he’s even going to look at Harry so he knows he has to be the one to give in. And like always, he does.

 

“Look, we’re here for work so just--can we just pretend for an hour?”

 

Draco’s looking down at the table top as Harry speaks, no indication that he’s willing to concede and Harry has just about given up hope for a normal evening when those eyes land on him and pin him to the spot like they always do.

_Godric, is he ever going to get used to having those eyes on him?_

 

He keeps his face blank, looks back at his partner waiting for an answer. All he gets is a slight nod and it feels like he’s breathing for the first time in days.

 

The atmosphere around them changes instantly, and it’s a relief that he doesn’t have to sit stiffly and keep his hands fisted in the pockets of his trousers all evening. Across the table, Draco leans back in his chair too and finally, it feels like a night out at the pub.

 

Even as relaxed as they look, it seems like there’s no conversation to be had.

 

Once again, Harry sighs and takes the lead. “You speak Irish?"

 

There’s a moment of indecision where Draco looks like he’s considering if he should answer or just completely ignore the question. Harry holds his breath, almost certain that he will be ignored which is why he visibly relaxes when Draco actually answers very mechanically, "Bits and pieces, why?"

 

He doesn’t know what to say to that, but he wants to keep this going. God knows he’s spent the last four days craving to hear that voice again and he just doesn’t want this to end so soon.

 

Raking a hand through his hair, he shrugs and asks: "How do you--why do you speak Irish?”

 

It’s a valid question he knows, but not right now. Not when they haven’t even looked at each other in days. Not when this is the first conversation they’ve had, he doesn’t think it’s appropriate to ask this now when they’re only here because of a work obligation.

 

He’s sure Draco won’t answer.

 

He’s surprised when Draco shakes his head like he has a million times before and snorts before saying, "Sometimes you say really stupid things, Potter.”

 

A warmth spreads through him at those words, at the way that voice lilts in that gently ribbing and teasing sort of way because it feels so familiar to be mocked by Draco.

 

He hangs his head to hide the slight smile that’s slipped onto his face, quite involuntarily and he finds himself saying, “No but seriously--”

 

He gets cut off by the waiter returning with their drinks and saying something to Draco who responds with, “Go raibh maith agat.”

 

Harry’s fingers wrap tightly around the glass placed in front of him without his express permission and it’s only after he lifts the glass to his mouth and takes a sip that he realizes he’s doing it to keep his tongue in check.

 

The waiter - Seán - places Draco’s drink in front of him and instead of taking their order, cocks a hip and stands beside Draco like he’s making a social call at a mate’s house.

 

“Cad é an craic?”, he asks while his fingers drum on the little tray he carried their drinks on.

 

Harry vaguely recognizes that question to mean he’s asking them what’re they up to, but he has no clue what Draco’s answer means: “Faire againn ach ar scannán!”

 

He’s lifting the glass and taking another sip hoping this’ll be the end of this conversation except Seán has other plans because clearly it’s another question he utters next: “Cé acu?”

 

And that’s all the patience Harry has right now.

 

“Can we order now?”, he snaps.

 

Draco and Seán both turn towards him like he's just threatened a child’s life. Draco's face goes through a series of expressions in a matter of seconds and Harry's not sure what to think.

 

Without a single word, the git turns back to the waiter and smiles at him till the boy hands over the menu. Then, he pointedly replies in Irish, “Go raibh mo agat."

 

Whatever that means.

 

Once the nosy waiter leaves, Draco looks at him with such venom that Harry wants to hide under the table. But he's a capable wizard, he can hold his own against Draco Malfoy. He can sit here through that piercing glare.

 

"I knew you had despicable manners, Potter, but that was unbelievably rude. Even for you!", he spits out through clenched teeth.

 

"Rude? He cut me off when I was talking,”, Harry protests hotly.

 

Draco just shakes his head, laughs a humourless laugh that sends chills down Harry’s spine. "He was having a conversation with me. In case you’ve forgotten, we are here to collect informat--"

 

"Oh I'm sorry that the middle of my sentence interrupted the beginning of his!"

 

"Oh grow up, Potter!”

 

"You know what? Fuck this!" His chair clatters to the floor when he stands up and he can see a few patrons looking over at the noise but most of them are too busy drinking to notice anything.

 

He downs the rest of his drink and is pulling his coat off the back of the chair when Draco’s surprised voice hisses, “What're you doing?”

 

Harry takes a few sickles out of his pocket and throws them on the table, “I'm leaving so you and nosy twat over there can have a conversation!", before pulling the jacket on.

 

Draco’s eyes are wide in shock but the tight line of his jaw tells Harry exactly how angry he is right now. Well, he isn’t the one who should be pissed, given he’s not the one who’d been flirting with the waiter ever since they walked in here.

 

"Fine! Get lost! I’ll tell Robards what a big help you were--"

 

He’s walking out the door before Draco can even finish his sentence.

 

***

Next morning, Harry walks into the office hungover and hurting all over - head hanging at just the right angle to make the throbbing stop - to find Sebastian and Draco standing by the window with their heads bent close, whispering in hushed tones.

 

His feet stutter to a stop just inside the doorway, heart pounding in his ears and before he can turn around and pretend he was never here, Draco catches his eye. He takes a discreet step away from Sebastian, eyes carefully locked on Harry’s.

 

And Harry looks away, pretends not to have seen as he walks further into the office with his head bowed and a cup of coffee from that muggle place clenched too tightly in his hand. It’s scalding hot through the flimsy cup but Harry almost feels like burning himself on it just to see if it’ll hurt anymore than it already does.

 

Sebastian offers a quick hello and Harry looks up for the smallest of seconds and waves before shuffling behind his desk and burying his face in the files there. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t bother to check if they’re looking at him and doesn’t answer beyond a silent wave when Sebastian says he should get going and voices a cheerful, “Bye, Harry! I’ll see you at the dinner!”

 

He can feel Draco’s eyes on him and Draco can probably tell from the way his shoulders tense on their own. But he still keeps his head down and chugs the strong coffee that burns on his tongue.

 

A tense silence settles in the room making it difficult to pretend that he’s the only one here but Harry doubts he can mask what he’s really thinking. Not today. Not when he walked into the office to find Sebastian in the one place that was truly theirs, and he can’t forget Draco’s eyes guiltily finding his over Sebastian’s shoulder either.

 

He hears a frustrated sigh from across the room and he could look up, he could meet Draco’s eyes and he could try to make this okay but he knows that he’ll see Sebastian and he’ll remember that conversation from last week if he looks at Draco.

 

And he can’t. Not just yet.

 

All of a sudden, the one person he always believed somewhere inside him that he would end up with - some day some day in the future - is falling for someone else. He’s going to need some time to recover, to face the reality that maybe he won’t end up with Drac after all.

 

So he keeps his head bowed and pretends to be concentrating on his paperwork while his mind runs in circles. That little voice in his head is back, making traitorous accusations like always.

 

 _You are a coward_ , it says.

 

 _You deserve this for being an arse_ , it claims.

 

 _You are his friend; this isn’t how you treat friends_ , it angrily hisses.

 

 _You are selfish_ , it whispers.

 

He doesn’t argue today.

 

***

 

Draco is pissed at him.

 

_He has every right to be._

 

Draco is unbearable when he’s pissed. He knows this from five years of experience of being on the receiving end of irrational fits and childish tantrums.

 

Today, the anger is manifesting in the form of a near constant slamming of drawers, and irritating and very intentional scratching of quill on parchment.

 

“Will you please stop?”, he eventually asks after hours of this.

 

The blond head snaps up at his pleading voice, eyes wide in surprise and lips opening and closing into a thin line. He looks back down to his desk without saying anything and Harry makes the mistake of thinking this’ll be it.

 

“Irritating when others do it, isn’t it?”, Draco drawls in that lazy way that always seems to make the other person feel about an inch tall.

 

Harry clenches his jaw in an effort to not bite, he’s going to be the reasonable one today. He watches as Draco looks up from the papers again, eyes shining in determination and whatever he’s about to say is going to be hurtful.

 

“Am I finally worthy enough for the Chosen One to talk to me?”

 

Called it.

 

“Can you stop with the stupid names already? It’s been five years, it’s getting old now.”

 

“Someone’s touchy. And besides, you don’t seem to mind much when other people call you that.”

 

Yup, that right there. That’s the problem.

 

_The incident._

 

_That time Draco had caught him in a very compromising position with someone who was calling him The Saviour in the middle of a very inappropriate sentence. He hadn’t let Harry live that one down for weeks, repeating what he’d heard in a breathy, teasing voice only he’d been completely unaware of the torment it was causing Harry to hear Draco say that. All the inappropriate thoughts that came with it._

 

Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to push away the images playing behind his eyelids and failing so he snaps them open and finds Draco watching him with a shit eating grin.

 

It settles something inside him, even if it’s meant to be a devious gesture at least it’s friendly. At least it’s more than the grunts and groans they’ve exchanged since last week.

 

“Draco?”, he says the name for the first time in days. It feels just a little odd at first but it settles as warmly on his tongue as it always does.

 

“Yes, Harry?”, the git asks in a honey sweet voice.

 

_Merlin, he needs to stop putting himself in these situations. Needs to stop giving Draco a chance to pull shit like this._

 

“Please stop banging the drawers.”

 

“If you’re asking so nicely.”

 

It’s still lurking under the surface, the tension from the past week, and the air seems to be sizzling with it. Harry takes a chance and mentions the dinner tonight.

 

Draco responds excitedly, he even goes so far as to clap. “Oh yes, I completely forgot about that!”

 

Harry’s nodding before he’s even aware of it and saying what’s been on his mind for days now. “In all honesty, I wasn’t sure if it was still on after we--you know.”

 

Draco’s face clouds over instantly, but he’s always been so good at pulling on masks that it doesn’t surprise Harry when a well practiced smirk appears. “Yes well, I think it’d be too cruel to deprive you of an opportunity to dine at the Manor just on account of you being a rude idiot.”

 

Harry shakes his head in amusement, insides twisting over how easy it is to sit here and pretend. “Sorry about the pub thing,”, he mumbles, “But you’re such a gracious host, Malfoy.”

 

“Thank you, I try,”, he says batting his eyelashes like a maiden from some antique oil portrait.

 

And just like that, it’s like the last week didn’t happen. He shouldn’t be surprised but even after all this time when they brush something under the rug, it astounds him. Leaves him feeling on edge, like something could happen any second that’ll pull this rug from under their very feet.

 

Of course Draco, being the one who started this charade, doesn’t seem to be bothered by it.

 

“So, we’re good?”, he asks with raised eyebrows as if they’d fallen out over who gets the last bite of food and it’s all been sorted now.

 

Harry wants to yell, _“no! We’re not alright!”_ but where will that get them? It’ll most likely make tonight’s dinner even more unbearable and honestly, Harry will need as many friendly faces there tonight as he can get.

 

Honest to god, he’d just make up an excuse to get out of it if he didn’t think Narcissa would show up in his flat and drag him by the collar. Might as well save himself some dignity, he reckons.

 

“Yeah, we’re good.”

 

Draco nods and goes back to filling out Ministry forms with his quill considerably less scratchy.

 

***

 

Dobby opens the huge oak doors and leads them into the Manor asking after Harry’s health over and over, making him flush out of embarrassment. He’s not a thirteen year old anymore, damnit.

 

“I’m fine, Dobby, I promise.”

 

“Master Harry should be eating well and taking care of himself. Master Harry is to be working hard and is needing good food--”

 

“I do, Dobby. Kreacher comes over sometimes...”

 

“Good. But you has to try too, Master Harry. You is stubborn.”

 

It’s almost more embarrassing being talked down to by an elf about his eating habits than being constantly asked if he’s taking care of himself. But Sebastian doesn’t seem very interested in his embarrassment though, thankfully. He’s chuckling at Dobby’s concern but not in a mean way.

 

They are led to a huge sitting room where Narcissa and Draco are already waiting for them and Dobby announces them both like they’re entering a king’s court or something. Harry deems it best to hold his tongue on that one.

 

As soon as Dobby disappears, Narcissa starts towards them in a movement so smooth that it looks she’s floating on air. “Ah, Sebastian. How nice to see you again.”

 

Harry can’t help but feel a little disappointing. He’s the one Narcissa sees every week, he’s the one Draco works with every day and he’s the one who goes on family outings with the Malfoys, Andromeda and Teddy.

 

“Thanks, Mrs. Malfoy. It’s nice to see you as well”, Sebastian offers in a weirdly soft tone that Harry’s never heard out of him before.

 

Narcissa hasn’t noticed or simply isn’t bothered by it. “Do come in. And you too, Mr. Potter.”

 

He smiles at her but he’s not really feeling it. Not that she even looks at him long enough to see the smile. She’s busy putting her hand on Sebastian’s arm and walking beside him like he’s her son-in-law.

 

_Don’t be bitter!_

 

At least Draco isn’t blindly following Sebastian. Instead, he’s watching Harry with narrowed eyes. “What’s with you?”, he asks, eyes still boring through Harry, as his mother and Sebastian keep walking towards the door whispering between themselves.

 

“Nothing,”, he answers.

 

“Harry--”

 

“Draco, may I speak to you for a moment?” Narcissa’s voice echoes off the walls and hangs in the air between them. Draco hesitates for a moment but then follows Narcissa into the drawing room, leaving Harry with Sebastian once again.

 

In the awkward silence, he and Sebastian look at each other and then at the large sitting room around them. They’ve been mates for years now but something has changed in the last few weeks. Ever since he introduced Sebastian and Draco, it hasn’t felt the same to be around him.

 

It’s just in his head, most likely but Harry really can’t see himself going over to the bookshop for a pint with this Sebastian. He’ll probably spend the whole time thinking about how he’s driven Draco right into Seb’s arms.

 

“This place is like a palace out of a story book!”, Sebastian exclaims all of a sudden. He whistles lowly, looking up at the tall ceilings and then at the gold woven curtains.

 

Harry watches him for a moment, suddenly thinking back to how he had stared open-mouthed at this very room the first time he’d been invited here in the second year of their partnership. He sighs, realizing how childish he’s being about this whole thing with Sebastian.

 

He’s Harry’s mate, one of the very few people who only sees him as Harry and nothing else. He remembers how grateful he’d been for that when he’d first met Seb, surrounded as he had been with people who knew him through the war and before. How can he throw away a friendship like so easily?

 

“Yeah, it really is,”, he says. Sebastian whips his head around and tosses him a quick, dimpled smile.

 

While Draco and his mother are gone, Oliver comes in with Dobby in tow. He looks like he’s about to meet the Queen, his robes are pristine, all regal looking, and Harry feels a twinge of insecurity as he looks down at his own rather plain robes.

 

Oliver walks over to him and offers a soft smile, when they hear a muffled sound. It’s Sebastian, he’s staring at Oliver with wide eyes and his hand goes to cover his mouth which Harry suspects is snapped shut after whatever that sound was.

 

Right.

 

It’s Oliver Wood, the quidditch player.

 

Oliver, being his usual charming self, smiles at Sebastian and introduces himself. A few minutes of stuttered and fumbled words later, Sebastian calms down and excuses himself to the bathroom. Harry watches as Dobby leads Sebastian out of the room and down the hall.

 

“Hope I’m not too late,”, Oliver leans in to whisper in Harry’s ear who shakes his head.

 

“We just got here, like five minutes ago,”, he mumbles.

 

“Oh good!” He sighs in relief and for some reason, his hand finds Harry’s and before he can even react, Draco comes through the door followed by his mother. Harry can see Draco’s eyes going to their entwined hands and Harry feels the urge to pull his hand away but why should he.

 

Draco’s still watching, and Oliver has turned to him with a raised eyebrow. So, with a stiff back he stands there, hand enclosed in Oliver’s, as Narcissa walks up to them and welcomes Oliver to the Manor. Harry feels the fingers around his squeezing a little and he returns the gesture, hoping it’ll help with the nervousness.

 

Oliver smiles at Narcissa, his hand leaving Harry’s with a gentle and reassuring squeeze. “Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.”

 

“Oh, call me Narcissa, Mr. Wood.”

 

“Then you must call me Oliver.”

 

“Done. But do tell me, how come your team lost the last match to the Cannons even after you have such good players as yourself?”  
Sebastian re-enters and promptly joins the gentle ribbing. Oliver’s ears are suspiciously red as the three walk toward the dining room.

 

Harry and Draco are left standing in absolute silence.

 

***

 

Narcissa is seated at the head of the table and Harry’s walking to sit beside Draco, purely on instinct, because where else is he supposed to sit but then Sebastian pulls out the chair beside Draco and Harry’s left standing there awkwardly holding his arm out.

 

Oliver, who’s sitting across from Sebastian calls his name and nods to the chair beside himself. That puts him across from Draco. Great.

 

The meal, in itself, is spectacular. As would be expected from a Malfoy dinner. Harry has only ever seen such a lavish spread at Ministry events and then too, food has never tasted this smooth and this creamy.

 

And the wine helps.

 

He’s had three glasses of it and by the time dessert is served, he’s absolutely pissed.

 

“I asked Dobby to make treacle tart. It’s Sebastian’s favourite dessert, Draco tells me.”

 

Harry can feel something burning inside him, without even thinking his fist clenches around the fork he’s holding and he has to hide his hand under the table.

 

Too late, Draco’s already seen it. His eyes are boring straight into Harry’s from across the table as Sebastian thanks Narcissa for such a pleasant surprise.

 

He has no right to be angry, he has no right to sit here stiffly with a clenched jaw and anger ripping him from the inside so he forcibly unclenches the fist and puts his hand back on the table.

 

Oliver’s hand comes to gently cover his, fingers once again lightly squeezing. He must be able to tell something’s off; he must be able to sense it, Harry thinks. Draco’s eyes track the movement and all Harry can do is turn to his right and smile at Oliver.

 

He doesn’t know how they’ve managed to fuck it up so much but he can’t see a way out of it this time. Can’t see them denying and ignoring and pretending after tonight.

 

***

 

It gets worse.

 

The looks and the silent daggers they’ve been glaring at each other all night aren’t the worst part of the night and that’s saying something. All through dinner, Harry’s been on edge. He’s been feeling like any second now, it’ll all come crashing around his ears.

 

But it goes even downhill from the silent glaring and the downright sadistic displays/ they’ve both put on tonight.

 

It gets worse when Narcissa invites them to the study in the East WIng for coffee and whiskey. As soon as she says that, Harry knows it’s a lost cause. He’s never been good at holding his liquor and least of all around a specific person, not since that first time he and Draco went to the Scottish pub for a pint after their first case.

 

He tries to say that he needs to get home, but Narcissa insists. He knows her enough to know that the way her eyes darken at his refusal is not going to bode well for him.

 

So he nods and walks alongside Oliver as they follow Narcissa through winding corridors and dark staircases till they’re led to a rather magnificently designed room surrounded by bookcases on every possible wall. He looks on in complete awe at the room, the tall ceilings and the dark wallpaper making it seem almost regal, and yet the fire burning slowly in one corner and the soft looking furniture making it cozy.

 

He lets his mind wander for a moment, thinks of how truly majestic the Manor would be if not for the ugly stain on its legacy during V’s reign, but his thoughts get interrupted by Narcissa’s polite yet firm voice.

 

“Please, choose your drink.”

 

He goes for the whiskey.

 

Knowing full well how this will end, he goes for the whiskey. And the moment he straightens back up having fixed himself a neat drink, he finds Draco looking at him with wide eyes.

 

He looks worried. _Good._

 

Harry settles beside Oliver on the chaise, returns his soft smile, and ignores Draco’s eyes that are following his every move.

 

It’s all going very well till Narcissa excuses herself and asks Draco to accompany her out of the room. Harry wonders what these secretive talks are about but one sip of the ember liquid down his throat and he forgets all about it.

 

Oliver takes this moment to go to the bathroom leaving Harry and Sebastian in the study by themselves. Harry decides to walk closer to the fireplace, to let the warmth from the stoked fire settle into his bones.

 

He’s too busy fiddling with his half filled glass when there’s a sudden whoosh in the silence of the room and a draft of cool air hits his warm skin making him look up to find the balcony door open.

 

He walks out onto the balcony and finds Sebastian leaning over the railing with his glass clutched in his hand. He turns at the sound of Harry’s footsteps.

 

“Harry! How’re you, mate?”

 

He can’t help but look at Sebastian with raised eyebrows because they’ve been in the same room all night so why’s he asking Harry this like he’s just seen him.

 

“Just haven’t had a chance to talk to ya, that’s all.” His American accent is shining through tonight more than it has in the last few years. Harry looks on curiously, wondering what’s brought on this change. Usually, the thick american drawl would be buried deep enough that no one can tell it’s there but tonight, Sebastian seems to be giving into it.

 

It makes Harry want to ask if he’s homesick. But as someone who’s never really had a home and can easily recognise that feeling on someone’s face, he resists. Why make the poor sod feel even worse by asking?

 

“I’m alright, Seb,”, he says using the nickname he knows he’s made a conscious effort to avoid in all of this mess. At the last moment, he tacks on: “You?”

 

He gets a slight nod from Sebastian.

 

Then, silence blankets them once again. The Malfoy estate sprawls out in front of them and the gardens lit up solely by moonlight are absolutely breathtaking.

 

“Teddy would love this view,”, he finds himself saying without any preamble, thinking back to that visit to the rose gardens.

 

Beside him, Sebastian smiles and Harry can tell he’s imagining Teddy standing here on the balcony with them and getting excited over this view. He looks away from the man, wanting to push away the images dancing behind his eyes because the guilt that accompanies them is overpowering.

 

The first time he had brought Teddy along to Sebastian’s shop, he’d taken to Sebastian so quickly that ten minutes into meeting him, Teddy’s shaggy brown hair had changed to the dirty blond of Sebastian’s head and had stayed that way for two days afterward as he gushed about America and Brooklyn and how he wanted to go there.

 

Sebastian has been such a good mate, always there for Harry when he’s needed him and there for Teddy too not out of some weird sense of responsibility but because he genuinely cares for Ted. Harry really shouldn’t have made a rival out of him in his mind, he should’ve been more honourable.

 

Sighing, he pushes the thoughts aside just as Sebastian abruptly turns to face him and asks something he could never have seen coming in a million years.

 

“Are you jealous, Harry? That I asked him out?”

 

“Excuse me?”, he says in a weirdly high pitched voice that isn’t his own.

 

He realises his mistake when Sebastian just stands there with his eyebrows high on his forehead.

 

He spoke too soon and too defensive.

 

Taking a deep breath, he looks away from Sebastian and over to the gardens again. He can feel Sebastian watching him but he doesn’t dare turn. No, he spends a few moments looking at the village in the far distance, thinking about what he can say that’ll make this conversation go away.

 

He decides on: “What’s there to be jealous about?”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Sebastian nod at his question as if mulling it over. Then, he asks, “So you’re not bothered that he and I are together?”

 

“What? Sebastian, why would I be bothered?” There’s that high and squeaky voice again. Merlin.

 

He doesn’t get an answer and it’s the silence that digs into his ribs and settles there making it hard to breathe.

 

“Because you’ve been partners for so long and now he’s with me.”

 

He should walk away, he really should get out of this messed up conversation before he says something he can’t take back -- “I mean, It’s not like you’ve married the bloke.”

 

_Godric._

_He shouldn’t have said that, he really shouldn’t have--_ “We’ll see about that.”

 

It’s the absolute confidence in Sebastian’s voice when he says this that makes Harry want to punch him in the face. Sebastian, who’s been such a good mate and who would never say a bad word to someone or hurt someone knowingly. And Harry wants to punch him right in his perfect teeth.

 

Later, when he’s home in bed lying awake thanks to the whiskey, he’ll realise why that one sentence irked him so. It’s because he never had the confidence to ask Draco out, he never believed in himself enough to do in five years what Sebastian did within weeks of meeting Draco.

 

For now though, he wants to hit Sebastian and make him double over in pain.

 

Instead, he walks back inside without a single word, sets his half filled glass down on the table and marches out of the study. Neither Narcissa nor Oliver are anywhere to be seen but his eyes land on Draco who’s half hidden inside an alcove down the hallway, shadows playing beautifully on his long, lean frame.

 

Without a word, he walks over to Draco and pushes him against the wall with a hand on his chest. Draco’s eyes widen at the touch but before he can react, Harry’s leaning in and kissing him.

 

It’s like a moment suspended in time, Draco’s lips are soft against his and they brush ever so slightly before Harry opens his own and takes Draco’s lower lip between his.

 

It’s a perfect fit, his lips fit perfectly against Draco’s and he stays like that for a moment: just two mouths held together.

 

Then, he pulls back and opens his eyes to see the stunned look on Draco’s face and his puckered lips and Sebastian staring at them from the doorway.

 

He turns around and leaves without a word because he doesn’t know what to say.  
Doesn’t know if there is anything he can say.

 

Draco is going out with Sebastian and he’s missed his chance.

 

***

 

He’s left standing dumbstruck with his hands and legs completely numb, can’t feel his face and most certainly can’t move. A hand landing on his shoulder breaks him from the trance, he starts quite terribly but Sebastian’s there beside him with his warmth and his kind face.

 

Oh Salazar, Sebastian’s here.

 

_Did he see?_

 

His breath comes in shakily at the thought as nausea spreads through him. He can’t hear anything over the sound of blood rushing through his veins as his body tries and fails to cope with the physical shock of having just been k--.

 

_What just happened?_

 

Draco closes his eyes and tries to breathe but that only makes the image of Harry leaning in dance in front of his eyes so he snaps them open and desperately looks around for something solid to hold onto.

 

It comes in the form of Sebastian’s hand sliding gently down his arm and wrapping around his wrist. It’s a grounding weight, and he feels a little more present as Sebastian smiles at him and starts to guide him toward the staircase that takes them downstairs and to the gardens.

 

Draco lets himself be led silently, listening to the sound of gravel crunching beneath their feet even as his mind replays the scene over and over.

 

He comes back to himself with a start. They’re sitting on the grass, legs sprawled in front of them and Draco has no recollection of sitting down at all.

 

In this shell-shocked state, all he can manage is: “Uh.”

 

Sebastian chuckles but not in a mean way, never in a mean way. He seems to want to give Draco room which he appreciates but he also knows that Sebastian can’t be patient forever and it isn’t fair on him to have seen something so unexpected and not get an explanation so Draco takes a deep breath and looks at the man beside him.

 

“That was not what it looked like. I promise.”

 

He nods at Draco, doesn’t meet his eyes and his head remains bowed, but he nods nevertheless. “Okay.”

 

Silence settles between them, and Draco can’t help but feel like he’s become so trapped in lies that he doesn’t know how to get out. Harry’s pushed him even deeper into this pit of certain pain and Sebastian’s here with kind eyes and soft words and Draco doesn’t know what to do.

 

It’s been so so hard working alongside Harry all these years when he knows that he’ll never have Harry how he wants him and now the bast-- gone and made it so much worse.

 

Sebastian’s soft voice breaks him off from his angsty thoughts: “So, what was it, then?”

 

“I.” He struggles to find words, doesn’t know what to say because Circe, what _was_ that?

 

“Look, I have to ask,”, Sebastian says a little firmly. “Are you and Harry--I mean, is there. Okay, right. I’ll just say it. Do you fancy him or something?”

 

He stares at Sebastian with wide eyes, that fear of mucking up the one good thing he has trickling back in. “What?”

 

“Because if you do, I’d rather you tell me now than break my heart later on. Because this--” he gestures between them, “--has become very important to me.”

 

_Oh Merlin, he doesn’t deserve Sebastian. He’s hurting Sebastian just because he himself is in pain and it’s not fair._

 

“Seb, I. I don’t know what to say.”

 

_Yes, you do._

 

“Just tell me the truth.”

 

_Well, then._

 

“He’s my partner and a good mate, that’s all. We’ve worked together for half a decade, it’s just that. Nothing else.” - _No matter how much more I want him to be, it’s never going to happen._

 

“Are you sure? He did just snog you.”

 

“He’s drunk.” - _Because the only way Harry will ever do something like that is when he has had a few drinks or when they have no choice, stuck in some mess where the only way to look inconspicuous is to pretend to suck face. He should know by now._

“And you?”, asks Sebastian bluntly.

 

“I what?” - _I am so far gone on him that I’m surprised it hasn’t killed me already._

 

“You let him.”

 

“I was in shock.” - _I wasn’t even breathing._

“Look, just--please. Tell me the truth.”

 

“I am.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“He and I are nothing but mates.” - _As much as it’s killing me, that’s all we are._

 

“Okay.”

 

He doesn’t say how badly he wants to experience it again, feel Harry's lips on his, feel him so close it's like being molten into one. 

 

And he most certainly doesn’t say how much anger it fills him with to know that he could never have Harry, that he doesn’t deserve Harry.

 

That all he could ever deserve was a drunken snog that they’ll both forget come morning and never talk about again.

 

He lets himself be held by Sebastian who cards his fingers through Draco’s hair and whose voice is so soft that he almost forgets how much he’s hurting inside.

 

Almost.

 

***

Out of all the possibilities his mind came up with about how Draco would handle it, denial wasn’t even on the list. Harry had thought that now for sure, Draco would have to face up to what’s been festering between them for ages. Now, when Harry’s kissed him he wouldn’t be able to lie anymore.

 

When Draco didn’t turn up for Sunday breakfast, Harry started feeling bad for having run him away from his own family. Surely, he’s avoiding Harry and that’s why he isn’t there.

 

When Draco didn’t show up at his flat for poker that evening, Harry started feeling anxious and like he should do something about it. But one look at Blaise told him he shouldn’t even try, and he didn’t.

 

Now, here he is.

 

Turns out, he really underestimated Draco Malfoy.

 

 _Like always_ , his mind supplies.

 

Because fresh on Monday morning, Draco arrives with his Ministry issue robes billowing behind him and perfect hair coiffed even higher than usual. He walks into the office with his resting bitch face on as usual and he even greets Harry with the same _utterly done_ expression he’s donned for five years.

 

“Morning, Potter.”

 

He sits there dumbfounded, watching as Draco sets up his desk for a day of paperwork and bitches and moans at the witch with the tea cart like nothing’s happened. Like they haven’t blown a giant, burning hole through their facade.

 

He doesn’t say one direct word to Harry after his greeting, and they both know that Draco’s not the silent one in this partnership.

 

Maybe he’s still pissed about the pub things-- _you know what he’s pissed about. And it’s not the pub…_

 

He’s so confused that he can’t even make himself bring it up meanwhile Draco’s over there scribbling furiously and muttering about something or another do with the idiots down in Patrol who should go back to school to learn how to write.

 

It’s so nauseatingly normal that Harry’s afraid to even think about disturbing this peace.

 

So he slouches in his seat and pretends to tease Draco about his perfect cuppa when he can’t even taste the tea in reality.

 

***

 

Robards is watching him with very unimpressed eyes as he walks through the door and closes it behind himself. If Harry had to describe his current look in one word, he’d say - bushed.

 

He doesn’t get a chance to even reach the chair before he’s being asked, “Potter, did you really storm out of the pub leaving Malfoy on his own?”

 

So, Draco’s already been to debrief Robards about the little project they were given. Okay, he can work with this. “Sir, I. I mean--”

 

“Would this have anything to do with that hopeless crush of yours?”

 

“Can you please stop saying that?”, he snaps irritably without thinking.

 

Robards’ eyebrows climb high on his forehead in clear displeasure. “I’m not your mother, not interested in teasing you, Potter. But I am interested if this is getting in the way of your work and it is.”

 

He gives Harry a very peculiar look, like he’s waiting for Harry to clue in. What is he trying to say without really saying it? He looks strangely like McGonagall when she’s trying to be patient with a thirteen year old. Then it dawns on him.

 

Surely, he couldn’t be suggesting--- no.

 

Harry can’t. He won’t.

 

There has to be another way.

 

“I’ll sort it out, sir.”

 

He looks even more unimpressed, and very skeptical of Harry’s confidence but he nods anyway. “Whatever you say, Auror. See that you do.”

 

Harry nods, more to reassure himself than anyone else.

 

As he’s getting out of the chair and walking towards the door, a sobering thought makes itself known. _What would Robards think if he knew about what happened at the dinner?_

 

Oh Merlin, he’s so fucked.

 

***

 

Lost in his thoughts about that silent but very clear insinuation in Robards’ office just now, Harry walks straight into Auror Johnson. The man looks at him with a frown on his face, and Harry utters a quick apology and starts walking away.

 

Usually, he’s pretty good at stopping intrusive thoughts from taking over his day when he’s at work. That’s how he’s managed to stay sane five years into this charade with Draco.

 

But for some reason, this intrusive thought--this _thing_ \--this, this idea that Robards has put in his brain just won’t go away. He can’t take his mind off of it, can’t pretend that it doesn’t exist like he does everything else.

 

And while he’s trying very hard not to think it as he walks down the hall toward the bullpen, he sees Draco standing by Auror Miller’s desk and explaining something to the man with enthusiastic gestures and a bright smile on his face.

 

Harry finds himself stopping in the middle of the corridor, staring.

 

Merlin, he’s so breathtaking.

 

Auror Miller reaches up and shoves Draco playfully, and the two burst out laughing and a few people start to notice but of course to them it’s just someone having a bit of a laugh. They don’t see what Harry sees.

 

He sees Draco with his head thrown back, hands clasping onto Auror Miller’s arm as he laughs with absolute abandon and gods, he’s so beautiful. So free in the way he’s shaking his head in mirth, eyes dancing with laughter and face lit up. He looks so different from a frightened seventeen year old boy Harry remembers. He’s more beautiful than anything Harry’s ever laid eyes on.

 

And he knows in that moment that Robards was right.

 

So he turns around and barges into Robards’ office without knocking. This can’t wait.

 

The man looks up with startled eyes, indignation and surprise clear in his voice when he says, “Potter?”

 

“I changed my mind,”, he says simply.

 

Gawain nods understandingly and even offers Harry a soft smile before pointing toward an empty chair.

 

***

 

He‘s coming out of the bathroom when he almost runs into someone. Into Draco.

 

Ah, he was hoping he didn’t have to do this so soon. It’s only been an hour since he went to Robards with his decision, and he’s spent the last half hour hiding away in the bathroom with hands that won’t stop shaking and a heart that won’t slow down.

 

He was really hoping he wouldn’t have to do this today but here they are.

 

Draco looks at him a second too long before he opens his mouth. “You put in a request for a new partner?”

 

He sounds like he’s asking someone if they take sugar in their tea.

 

Harry watches him for a moment, waits for a leak--for something other than blank indifference on that face and when he doesn’t see it, he shrugs like he’s telling someone that he doesn’t care either way if they put sugar in his teacup.

 

“Yes, I did. I think it’s time we branched out a little,”, he says.

 

Draco nods.

 

Harry waits for him to say something. Anything.

 

He doesn’t.

 

***

 

He hasn’t thought about it for years. Not because he hasn’t wanted to, oh he’s wanted to. He’s wanted to close his eyes and relive that time over and over, wrap that memory around him like a warm blanket and curl up with it.

 

But he hasn’t allowed himself the pleasure because he knows it’ll be impossible to come back from it if he gives in.

 

Now, as he stands in the suffocating little cubicle in the men’s bathroom on the Auror Level after just being called in by Robards and told that his partner has put in a request to be assigned to someone else, Draco can’t help but think back to it.

 

The day Harry had told him he’d be there no matter what.

 

The moment he’d pulled Draco away from the naked flames of the Room of Requirement in his mind, with whispered promises to always have his back, and the way his words had hung in the air between them even if neither had brought them up in the light of day - he can’t help but feel like he’s been betrayed.

 

He doesn’t leave the little cubicle on Level four for another ten minutes, and thankfully no one comes in in that time. He’s not sure he’d be able to explain his state to someone right now.

 

When he walks out again, no one can tell what he’s done.

 

Not even Harry, who he runs into completely unexpectedly and who admits to putting in the request so casually that Draco almost asks him if he remembers that night in the hospital years ago. If he remembers the promises he’d made--promises Draco hadn’t asked him to make.

 

He doesn’t though, he only nods and agrees when Harry says they should try other things. He’s sure that his face reflects none of the agony he’s in right now, no sign of the pain as he feels his insides slowly twisting and ripping themselves apart over the lies this man has told him.

 

He goes home and finds an old apothecary bottle with a potion he hasn’t drank in years. Hasn’t felt the need to, but tonight he does.

 

It makes him forget. Literally.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that? We finally got some action between the boys - I know it isn't nearly enough for the amount of angst and pain I've put you through but I promise there's some sexy times coming. Soon.
> 
> Dia Duit - God to you - Hi  
> Dia is muire duit - God and Mary to you - Hey  
> Labhraíonn tú gaeilge? - You speak Gaelic?  
> Gaeilge briste - Broken Gaelic  
> Tá a fhios agat cad a deir siad: Is fearr Gaeilge bhriste ná Béarla cliste! - You know what they say: Broken Irish is better than perfect English  
> Ce chaoi 'bhfuil tu? - How are you?  
> Go raibh maith agat - Thanks  
> Cad é an craic? - what's the craic? - So, what's happening?  
> Faire againn ach ar scannán! - We're just after watching a film  
> Cé acu? - Which one?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, another one! 
> 
> It's just a little companion piece because at the end of this chapter, we reach a sort of End of Scene moment. Things have been shaken about and the pieces have fallen into place for the final Act.

Harry stands by the stove waiting for the onions to turn brown so he can add the tomatoes. It’s been ages since he’s made curry at home, but he still remembers the steps from when Petunia had had Mrs. Puri around to teach her. It’d lasted two weeks before Mrs. Puri had shaken her head and declared Petunia Dursley rubbish at cooking and that she will never be able to make a curry before storming out of the Dursley home.

 

Petunia had been livid, had ranted about how indian food was crap anyway and inferior to the British classics, and that she was only trying to give it a fair chance. She’d taken Harry by the collar and told him, _‘you’d better be ready to make a damned good curry when we have Vern’s new boss around for dinner or else!’_

 

Absentmindedly, he wonders if that’s why he enjoys curry so much as an adult, because aunt Petunia had failed at making anything even remotely resembling a curry and Harry was good at it which drove her mad. Of course, the rich flavours and the many, many dishes he has since discovered don’t hurt either.

 

Lost in his inner monologue, he’s forgotten about the onions and now they’ve turned more brown than they should’ve and the strong smell of burnt onion is not something he wants lingering in the flat so he dumps the tomatoes in and jumps back from the stove when spits of hot oil land on his arms and face--“Bloody fuck!”

 

He really shouldn’t be daydreaming while cooking.

 

After adding the spices and lowering the flame of the stove, he stands by idly stirring the masala. It’s always good to cook when he’s got the time. 

 

His mind wanders to Draco as he watches the mixture turning from red to a brownish orange thanks to the turmeric and the garam masala. He’s seen Harry cooking a few times and every time, he’s stood in the kitchen right over there and watched with rapt attention. And every time, he’s started losing patience around the half hour mark and started asking Harry when they can eat and why not now when the kitchen already smells like curry.

 

He smiles remembering the utter lack of patience and the almost childish way Draco huffs and puffs and protests not getting to eat right away. And then the smile leads to something else, something he only thinks about when he wants to wallow in his own misery.

 

Not today, he thinks, putting the lid on the pressure cooker and turning to get the rice in a pot.

 

Not today.

 

***

 

Sebastian is the one who finds him, face down on his bed and still in his Ministry robes and dragonhide boots. “Oh, no no! No, come on come on. Please please--”

 

The panic underlying those hurried words is the first thing he registers, whoever is speaking sounds incredibly sad and he wants to ask them why. He wants to help them...

 

Hands are pushing him this way and that, fingers digging into his skin but not painfully. He tries to shake it off but the voice keeps pleading and the hands finally manage to turn him onto his back and that’s when he feels the soreness in his neck and limbs.

 

“Draco, come on, mate. Get up!” 

 

He resists for all of two seconds but then gentle hands push the robes off of his shoulders and then take the left boot off an-- “Sebastian, no!”, he gasps out scandalised, “Why are you taking my boots off?”

 

Next thing he knows he’s sitting up and his head’s throbbing painfully but he can’t let Sebastian peel off his boots like he’s an elf working for Draco. He can’t let Sebastian touch his feet and take his boots off like a servant. 

 

Sebastian sounds breathless when he says, “Because you’ve been lying here in them for god knows how long and I couldn’t let you--”

 

He’s saying it before he can even think about it: “You need to stop being so nice to me.” 

 

The words do something to Sebastian, Draco’s not sure what but he stops moving altogether and just looks at Draco. A silent moment passes, another, and another.

 

“Draco.”

 

His breath catches at that. It’s just his name, Sebastian hasn’t said anything else but then he doesn’t need to. There’s so much hidden underneath, so much concern on his face that Draco can’t help but feel completely lost as a sudden coldness blankets his skin. He’s even more lost when he feels Sebastian’s hand wrap around the back of his neck as if grounding him, and his words soothe some deep ache within Draco. “You deserve it, and so much more. Stop doubting yourself.”

 

That’s so vague, it could mean anything but he knows exactly what Seb is saying. It doesn’t stop him from crying, and the moment a tear slips down his cheek Sebastian is there beside him and around him and completely surrounding him and he lets it go.

 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here, you’re going to be fine,”, says Sebastian softly.

 

He’s heard those words before, from someone else in a different situation but that person hadn’t meant them at all. It’s just something people say.

 

He loses track of time at some point, seconds and minutes bleeding together into something he won’t ever get back but the numb buzzing of his brain is calming in a way. At least he’s not hurting himself.

 

Some time later, he feels himself coming back to his room and to Sebastian who’s still sitting behind him with his chest to Draco’s back. It’s comforting, immensely so, to be engulfed in someone who’s gently rocking with you and keeping you anchored at a time when you’re scared you’ll just float away.

 

Seb must sense him coming back because his breathing changes and Draco can’t help but tense in response. Suddenly, a hand comes up to card through his hair, as if to let him know that it’s alright.

 

He leans back into that warmth unconsciously. 

 

“I took one look at you and I knew,”, Seb says with something very weary and personal in his tone. “I recognised it.”

 

“Y--you?” Draco’s always hated it when his voice breaks, betraying his every emotion, but somehow here and now it’s not important. Sebastian’s already seen him at his lowest. 

  
“Yeah, little good boy me. I know it’s different with magical potions than drugs but it’s still addiction. And I know how it feels to be waking up from a sleep you didn’t even know you were in and realizing that you fucked up.”

 

Maybe it’s because he knows Sebastian can’t see him or maybe it’s because everything he’s just said is true, but Draco can’t stop a few tears leaking from his eyes. “I just--I couldn’t deal with it,”, he admits. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

 

Sebastian’s arms come up around him, silently reassuring, and it’s a relief because Draco’s just realizing how badly he’s fucked it up.

 

“What happened?”, Seb asks quietly.

 

He doesn’t answer.

 

“You don’t have to tell me. I’d never force you to but if you want to, I am here.”

 

He focuses on his breathing and doesn’t say anything as his mind runs over everything that’s led him to this point. Then without much feeling, he says it aloud for the first time.

 

“Harry requested a new partner at work.”

 

“He--oh.” One thing Draco admires about Seb is that he likes to think about things. He’s not rash like Harry or emotional like Draco. He doesn’t think silences are a waste of time. And being around him, Draco’s gotten used to the silences because he knows to expect them.

 

After a moment, Seb speaks again. “Do you know why?”, he asks almost hesitantly. 

 

He shakes his head because he has an inkling but he doesn’t really know. Apparently, Sebastian’s mind is going in the same direction because he whispers, “Do you think it has to do with what he did at the dinner party?”

 

“I don’t know,”, Draco answers truthfully.

 

Seb makes a little disbelieving sound, shakes his head and Draco can feel Sebastian's soft hair brushing past his cheek. “I don’t think he’s that kind of a person.” 

 

Draco doesn’t say anything, it feels like he doesn’t know what kind of a person Harry is anymore.  

 

A few more minutes of silence pass between them and Seb’s pulled him even closer, nuzzling his nose into Draco’s hair and is holding on for dear life.

 

Just when Draco thinks he’s said everything he wants to say, Sebastian rests his chin on his shoulder and whispers, “He’s my friend but if he’s the reason you slipped, then I think you need to do something about it.”

 

He knows that Seb’s right. He knows that he should be distancing himself from Harry because he can’t ruin his life like this but then a bitter thought trickles into his mind.

 

_Don’t have to distance yourself, he’s already pushed you away.._

 

A choked sob makes it past sealed lips and it’s so quiet but Seb’s right there and he moves around to make himself more comfortable and then pulls Draco into his lap without a word.

 

***

 

“Harry, I heard what happened at work,”, Andromeda says as soon as they’ve settled down for tea. 

 

He doesn’t get the chance to process this statement as Narcissa cuts in with unforgiving precision. “Yes, Draco told us that your superior assigned you new partners.”

 

Her voice cuts through him sharply, makes him look up and find her eyes trained on him. She looks utterly disbelieving; the twist of her mouth is not only skeptical but also categorically cold. This suddenly feels like an interrogation and his mouth is filled with a bitter taste so he puts his untouched tea back on the table.

 

“Oh, it must be so strange to work with someone else after all these years!”, Andromeda exclaims with a kindness and sympathy that contrasts oh so distinctly with her sister’s unforgiving manner.

 

His eyes fly to Draco without even meaning to. Cool gray eyes are already looking back, no hint of any emotion in a gaze that could at one time melt Harry with the sheer heat in it.

 

Now, it’s like looking at an estranged acquaintance, wondering if whatever common thread tied them together is still relevant. It shouldn’t be like this.

 

  
When Andromeda and Narcissa are busy listening to one of Teddy’s stories, he pulls Draco aside - hand almost burning at the contact. 

 

“What did you tell them?”, he hisses. 

 

“What? You wanted me to tell them that you’re being an arse and went to Robards yourself?”, he asks in that cool tone that annoys Harry so much because it’s almost always a cover for real emotion, and tacks on: "--For no good reason?”

 

 _No good reason. No. Good. Reason. NO GOOD--_ Shut up! 

 

“Is that what you think of me?”, he asks softly, completely ignoring the voice in his head that's shouting now. 

 

Draco pauses for a second, licking his lips before roughly snatching his hand out of Harry’s grip. “Yes. Because that’s what you’re doing,”, he says.

 

Harry finds himself smiling at this. A mad, out-of-place smile. “I don’t think you think that, but you hate it when I tell you you’re wrong so I won’t.”

 

He would’ve expected Draco to lose his temper at Harry’s words, would’ve expected him to hex Harry and when he doesn’t, Harry feels like he’s missed something important. It unsettles him, leaves him questioning and concerned even when Draco replies with sarcasm: “Always so kind, O’ Chosen One.”

 

_No, there’s something else going on here._

 

“Cut the crap, Draco,", he snaps irritably because nothing makes sense. 

 

“Oh, _I_ should?”, Draco asks. 

 

And then those eyes that were so emotionless just a moment ago are burning with something so intense that Harry can feel himself getting smaller. There’s a challenge there, a provocation and Harry’s not sure he’s strong enough to resist this time--

 

“Draco, there you are!”

 

They both turn around to find Sebastian walking toward them, an easy smile on his face. He must’ve just arrived and gone looking for his boyfriend.

 

Harry doesn’t bother sticking around because he doesn’t know what Sebastian and Draco are still doing with each after what happened at the dinner party and he doesn’t plan on finding out.

 

And he sure as hell doesn’t want to be here to watch Sebastian’s hand going to the back of Draco’s neck and to hear a whispered, “You alright?”

 

 _Why wouldn’t he be alright?!_ he wants to snap but doesn’t because he’s lost the right to.

 

*** 

 

He can count, on one hand, the number of times he’s been pleasantly surprised in his life. Surprised - dozens of times, but hardly ever a good surprise.

 

This is one of those times.

 

He’s standing in Robards’ office, staring slack jawed at his new work assignment.  

 

KIngsley Shacklebolt.

 

“So, will you be my Ministry-appointed Royal Guard, Harry?” 

 

Okay, rewind. He had spent the weekend dreading his new assignment and there was no room for Sunday breakfasts or poker nights in the middle of this dreading so he’d taken a portkey to Scotland and spent the weekend holed up in a little known castle turned inn.

 

Then, come Monday morning he’d entered the Ministry and made a beeline for Robards’ office without even looking toward his old office, which he was given the choice to stay in or leave and he’d readily removed his belongings from the room so Draco could stay.

 

From the looks of it, word had travelled. There were murmurs as Harry had gotten out of the lift and walked toward the Head Auror office. He had ignored the calls of his name and slammed the door shut behind him.

 

Kingsley and Robards had been waiting for him. 

 

He’d listened to most of their conversation while in shock. “Gawain sent me an owl about your decision, I’m very sorry to hear you’re parting ways with Mr. Malfoy.” “The Minister has requested you be placed into his team of guards, Potter.” "Yes, Harry. I would like for you to be my personal guard."

 

And now here they are.  

 

“I,", he says eloquently in response.

 

Kingsley walks up to him and puts a light hand on his shoulder, that same soft smile Harry remembers from fifth year lighting up his round face. “I think this would be a wonderful opportunity for you, Harry.”

 

In his half-cognizant state, he’s speaking before he realizes. “I think you might be a little biased.”

 

Thankfully, Kingsley finds that funny and not offensive. “See? I could use someone who’s quick on his feet and not a most boring arse. No offence, Gawain.”

 

For a second Robards looks confused as if unsure if the Minister has just insulted the last appointed guard or Robards personally.

 

“None taken, sir,", he replies half confused. 

 

Kingsley turns back to him and continues, “I have a guard with me more hours than not, Harry. I need someone I can trust but also someone who feels companionable. And we already know each other well. So what do you say?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He’s said it before he’s had a chance to really think it through.

  
***

  
“Finally got your head on straight, Harry?”

 

His feet stop and so does every movement in the bullpen, it seems, as a hush falls over everyone. Harry sighs and turns toward the voice to find Smith standing there with a shit eating grin on his face. His very smug face.

 

Harry takes a look around to see every single auror frozen and watching him. He can’t just ignore Smith like he usually does when the idiot starts mouthing off, he can’t walk away when everyone’s watching him.

 

He has to say something or Smith will make Draco’s life hell-- _Godric! He hadn’t even thought of that_ \--if he works for Kingsley, then he won’t be coming to the Ministry every day which means Draco will be well and truly alone. With no Harry to punch Smith’s teeth in--Merlin, what’s he done?

 

If Draco was here right now, hearing this, he’d hex Harry into next week for thinking him weak or incapable of defending himself but that’s not why Harry’s worried, it’s more about Smith and the cruel things he’s capable of saying.

 

“He’s been hiding behind you for so long, and now we’ll all see his incompetence and his real face. A Death Eater and kill--” 

 

The second his fist connects with Smith’s jaw, there’s a disgusting crunching sound followed by a sharp pain in his knuckles that he ignores in favor of really savouring the agonising wail that Smith lets out as he falls to his knees, clutching his bloody jaw.

 

Everyone’s staring, mouths covered with hands to muffle the gasps and eyes wide but none of it matters to Harry. 

 

This isn’t the first person he’s hurt in the name of Draco Malfoy, and it isn’t the last.

 

He leaves the Ministry as an active Auror for the last time. 

 

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh? What'dya think?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gents, here it is: The Second Act. 
> 
> Please note: there is a possible triggering situation in this chapter. Read the end notes for a description, it is spoiler-y.

Life changes so drastically with a single change in one’s job, Harry had never thought he’d think this.

He’d never really felt the inclination to do anything other than become an auror after Hogwarts. Then, after being assigned with Draco Malfoy, there were times when he wanted to retire and live the rest of his life as a hermit in the jungles of Ecuador but never really went through with it.

A few months after that, he couldn’t imagine not working as an auror and not working alongside his git of a partner.

Now here he is - not an auror and not Draco’s partner.

It’s strange in the way it’s strange when you take a portkey home from hundreds of miles away and it takes you a minute to recognize your own home because the world won’t stop spinning. That’s what it feels like not going to the Ministry in the morning, and not seeing Draco grumbling about the poor quality of the auror robes right before insulting the tea lady and ending up with undrinkable tea.

It feels like his world is spinning under his very feet and he has nothing solid to hold on to.

Kingsley’s hand lands on his shoulder, startling him out of his intrusive thoughts. “Harry, are you alright?”

He looks around at the pristine room he’s in, it’s the front lobby of the Italian Ministry - _Ministero della Magia_ \- and it’s breathtaking in its architecture and its design. The light pouring in from the glass dome in the ceiling is making everything seem surreal as if Harry wasn’t already struggling with his grip on reality.

“Harry?”, Kingsley says. 

Right.

“Uh, sorry. Just new job and all,", he lies. 

Kingsley nods understandingly, his eyes tracing Harry’s face as if searching for something there. Then, he shifts a little closer and dips his voice lower: “You must be missing your partner; five years is a long time to be working alongside someone.”

He knows he’s not good at keeping a neutral face, has been told countless times by his former partner. And yet, he tries.

Tries to keep a straight face, not to let anything show as he stands here in the lobby of the Italian Ministry having a staring contest with the English Minister for Magic.

Kingsley gives in first, his eyes lowering to the ground and a smile playing on his lips that Harry catches sight of just before Kingsley bows his head.

He concedes, “Erm, yes. It’s--it’s weird not seeing him in the mornings.”

They both know it’s a cop out but thankfully this is Kingsley and not Hermione because she wouldn’t care where they were and would poke and prod till he gave in.

Thankfully, Kingsley leaves it with a single poke. “I’m sure it will get less so as time goes by.”

He nods and gestures for Kingsley to start walking toward the auditorium before the Minister shows any more interest in his non-existent love life.

***

He has been re-assigned to work with a fresh faced Hufflepuff who has just graduated from the training course, and by just Draco means last week.

This fresh faced Hufflepuff looks about twelve years old, speaks so low that he’s barely audible and is, at all times, caught halfway between staring at Draco in awe and looking like he’s about to shit himself.

It is a terrifying prospect that Draco is expected to trust this person with his life. This person, who has replaced Harry Potter because Harry Potter betrayed Draco’s trust and is no longer his partner. 

“Excuse me,', he mumbles and walks out of the office. 

He slams the bathroom door shut behind himself and locks it, all the while reaching impatiently for the potion in his pocket and bringing it to his lips. He takes a few gulps, almost chokes on the taste but it doesn’t matter. What matters is what the potion does to him.

The Hufflepuff - James, _because of course_ \- doesn’t notice the glassy eyed look when Draco comes back from the bathroom. He’s too busy decorating his desk with dozens of photo frames that contain photos of deliriously happy people who, like James himself, look like they’ve just learned to ride a broom.

His first mission with Hufflepuff James doesn’t go so well.   

This, he could’ve told you within five minutes of meeting his new partner. Meaning it was always going to be a tough transition to make from having the Chosen One watching your back and pulling you out of sticky situations to having someone who can barely cast offensive spells as your backup. 

He gets a good chuckle out of that actually - the thought that with Harry as his partner and his backup, Draco was the one jumping into stupid situations and getting himself hurt after making impulsive decisions. That out of the two of them, he was the one putting himself in front of raised wands and getting himself split open. He, _the Slytherin._

Anyway, that’s all in the past now. 

Now, he gets to be the idiot who jumped into a duel he wasn’t ready for, leaving his partner no choice but to watch him go down. At least that’s what the official version is.  

The unofficial version - the true version - has led to him standing in Robards’ office with his hands behind his back, getting his arse handed to him by a furious and red-faced Head Auror.

“--put him in danger as well as yourself! He is a brand new auror, hasn’t even had his welcome party sorted yet and you almost got him killed! This is utterly irresponsible of you, Malfoy! And don’t think, for one second, that I don’t know what this is about.”

He looks up at the sudden silence after a strange exclamation like that, isn’t expecting to find Robards watching him curiously and is very surprised at that look.

Like he knows something.

“Sir?”, he asks with indifference colouring the word.  

"Potter!”, Robards spits out the name in a way that would’ve made eleven-year old Draco very happy. He continues, a little more softly: “Isn’t that why you--”

“No, sir,”, Draco cuts him off firmly. “This has nothing to do with my former partner.”

“Malfoy, just look--”

"No. I am telling you that this has nothing to do with that. It was just bad timing and that’s all.”

“Bad timing as in you jumped in front of a raised wand without checking for backup? Or bad timing as in you were intoxicated and completely off your rocker?”

The low, growly voice of his superior should be intimidating but he’s had healers poking at his body since this morning and he hasn’t slept in more than a full day so excuse him if he doesn’t fall at Robards’ feet begging for forgiveness.

“Well? You gonna explain yourself?”, his superior barks.

He shrugs. “Nothing to explain.”

"Are you admitting to being under the influence while on active duty?”

When Draco doesn’t answer, Robards’ eyes go soft which is not something Draco thought they could do so he stands there dumbfounded at seeing Gawain Robards watching him with something akin to pity. “Draco--”

_Malfoys don’t do pity._

“Was there anything else, sir?” 

Ah, there it is. The clenched jaw that he identifies with the Head Auror. 

“Consider this your last warning, Auror Malfoy. I don’t want to hear anything else about you getting in fights or turning up to work pissed. And I better not hear you’re lying unconscious in St. Mungo’s because you jumped in front of a raised wand like a twat. You are not dying under my watch, young man.”

“Yes, sir,”, he offers with a sweeping salute that he and Robards both know means something else entirely.   

Thankfully, the Head Auror doesn’t rip him a new one for being such an insubordinate git. No, he just waits till Draco is almost out the door before calling his name.

“Oh, and Malfoy?”

He turns around wearily, hand clutching the door handle like a lifeline. “Sir?”

“How’s James?”, he asks with a twist of his lips that Draco knows is payback for the salute.  

“Fine, sir,", he grits out. 

“Good. I expect you to be nice to him, teach him the ins and outs.”

“Teach him to read and write, too?”, he mutters under his breath prompting Robards to ask him to repeat himself. “Nothing, sir. I will.”

“He’s a good kid, and you better not spoil him with your cynicism and foul mouth, Malfoy.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir!”

***

“--he gets away with everything, sir! He’s hit me twice now and he hasn’t even been given a bloody warning for all I know! Why does he always get preferential treatment?”

He’s been here for ten minutes, repeating the same accusations over and over. He sounds like a petulant child who’s envious of their sibling getting the best broom. And more than that, he’s dripping blood on the good carpet.

 _If you know he’s going to hit you, because he’s hit you once before, why wouldn’t you step out of the way?_ , he idly wonders but of course doesn’t say. Gawain sighs, fingers going to the bridge of his nose as Auror Smith continues pointing out all the ways that Potter has been favoured by the Ministry over everyone else.

He stops to take a breath around the fifteen minute mark, by which time Gawain can feel his eyes glazing over. He curses at the Minister in his mind, curses him for taking Potter away from here and leaving him with this clown.

Outwardly, he has to maintain some semblance of professionalism and he can’t really go around throwing things at his aurors. So he points out: “Well, to be fair, Auror Smith, you do go out of your way to provoke him.”

Smith looks like a fish out of water, his blood stained mouth opening and closing a few times with no response. Then, he points a finger in Gawain’s face - the bloody nerve of him - and yells, “You can’t take sides like that!”

“Are you give me an order right now, Auror?”

Fear flashes in Smith’s eyes and for a moment Gawain can’t help but think how appropriate it is to have someone like Smith in the Auror ranks. Someone who is clearly not cut out for the job.

“N--no, sir!”, he croaks out finally.

Sighing, Gawain rests his chin against his hand and says, “Potter is no longer employed with the Aurors so I am not his superior. If you want to file an official complaint, you’ll have to go to the Minister’s office.”

“But he hit me,”, comes the whiny response.

“Yes, I am aware.”

He can’t wait for lunch hour, Cornelia made Cornish pasty last night and he’s been fantasising about eating it since 8 o’clock this morning. 

“And you won’t do anything about it?”, asks Smith in an annoyingly nasal voice.

 _That’s it_ , he thinks. _I’m not paid nearly enough to deal with these childish squabbles and pissing contests_. He sits up in his chair and shoots a stern glare at Smith, who cowers in his seat slightly.

“Auror Smith, I am also aware that you approached Auror Potter and made unacceptable comments about another auror and his past--”

“But he is a Death Eate--”

“Enough!” He’s out of his seat and making his way across the desk, watching as Smith’s eyes widen in surprise and fear. He doesn’t stop till he’s standing in front of Smith.

“Listen to me, Auror. This is not a playground and I am not your minder. You are a grown man who needs to take responsibility for his actions. I don’t know what your beef is with Potter and Malfoy, and I don’t care. What I do care about is that people under my command do their due diligence and stay in their limits. Which includes not making provocative or derogatory remarks about their coworkers. Do I make myself clear?”

Smith doesn’t say anything, his jaw clenched like an angry child.

“Do I make myself clear, Auror?!”, he snaps making Smith jump in surprise.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, if you want to make an official complaint, I suggest you get in touch with the Minister’s office. Potter did assault you and that’s unacceptable but you had better be ready to explain your behaviour, son.”

“Sir,”, he nods thoughtfully.

Maybe it’s finally sinking in that he’s been a twat of the first degree and challenging an impulsive idiot like Potter is never a good idea especially if you’re not the kind who can follow words with action.

“And Smith?” 

He looks up with wide eyes and doesn’t say anything. _If only he could pull this sad krup look half as well as Malfoy_ , Gawain thinks to himself.

Shaking his head to drive away the disturbing thought that he has just compared two of his aurors on the basis of how well they can impersonate a sad animal, he continues: “Malfoy is making a difficult transition, I suggest you steer clear of him for the time being.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now go and finish those reports on the burglary. I’ll be expecting them this afternoon.”

Afternoon. Cornish pasty. He smiles. 

As the door closes behind Smith, he settles back in his chair with his head in his hands. When he took the position of Head Auror, he never imagined he’d be refereeing pigtail contests between two fully grown men.

Maybe it’s time to consider retirement.

Ah, to be away from the Ministry and this job. Away from Potter giving him headaches when he’s not even here anymore.

***

He’s been asked to rest.

Well, he’s been given a sick leave - it’s a paid temporary suspension really - and forced to stay out of the office for a full week on account of the head injury from the botched raid. It could be the drinking, he thinks, but no one has said anything about that outside of the dressing down from Robards. And Robards has personally put wards on the office to make sure he doesn’t try to sneak in at night.

His partner has failed to understand that Draco almost got them both killed and has sent a fruit basket as a get well soon gift. Mother thinks it’s very kind of him and Sebastian has been teasing him relentlessly for getting a Hufflepuff partner who may be slightly in love with him.

Draco doesn’t care for any of them.

He’s been glaring at anyone who’s so much as come within spitting distance in the last day. Even Teddy has kept his distance, despite being inwardly elated that Draco is staying with them instead of his own flat on account of poor health.

Mother had tried to blackmail him again about Harry, had said all sorts of things about him to rile Draco up - ‘He hasn’t come to check on you, he must’ve heard about your injury by now. Perhaps, it’s for the best that you have turned your affections toward Mr. Barnes.’

Tired as he is, he doesn’t need her to bring his morale down.

He’s lost his partner, his best friend, for no understandable reason other than Harry regrets what he did at the dinner and doesn’t want to face Draco again. It seems utterly cruel that even after burying everything he felt under layers and layers of denial, he’s still somehow managed to lose Harry.

His work isn’t nearly as satisfying as he’s always believed it to be. Maybe it’s the cases he’s getting these days or maybe it’s walking into that office and expecting to see Harry waiting for him every morning - instead finding a boy looking at him with admiration that he’s not sure he deserves - and then getting that sinking feeling in his chest because Harry will never be waiting for him again.

His mother is seconds from making the situation worse by pushing Harry even further away. He has somehow gotten himself involved with a man he only has platonic feelings for, and said man is possibly the nicest person he has ever met and Draco’s going to break his heart to pieces.

And he’s abusing potions.  

Draco Malfoy’s life has come a full circle to shit and not worth living. 

***

Once again, it’s Sebastian who finds him leaning over a cauldron breathing in the fumes like his life depends on it. He had thought no one would find him because no one would think to look in the little potions lab he used to keep at the Manor while he was at Hogwarts.

Clearly, he was wrong because someone is standing in the doorway blocking the only source of natural light in the dark room. He sighs because barring his mother, there’s only one person that could be.

At least this time, he’s not unconscious and drooling, face down on his bed sheets.

“Please tell me that isn’t the potion you’ve been drinking,”, Sebastian says with a hard edge in his voice.

He tries to joke his way out of it. “I’ve been drinking a few potions for health, and energy and recover--”

“Draco.”

The authority in his voice makes Draco stop, and he’s expecting to turn around and find anger etched into Sebastian’s features but what he finds is a silent plea. All he can do is lean back against the worktable and cross his arms in front of him, waiting for Seb to say something.

“So it is,”, he says resignedly.

Draco feels a little like an alcoholic who’s expected to be drunk all the time as if he has no control over his actions; he feels patronized.

“And if it is?”, he says a little defensively.

Seb doesn’t say anything for a few moments, just watching him and che-- “I know what it’s like to be on the other side of this, to feel targeted and patronized by everyone. To feel like no one understands you. And I can see it in your eyes right now, that you’re thinking that about me.”

It’s all he can do to not turn around and hide his face because that’ll only make things worse. It’s time to own up to some things, he feels.

It’s time.

“You’re right,”, he says.

Seb nods and bows his head, studies his feet for a long moment. Draco’s eyes follow him, cataloguing every movement and trying to read what’s going through his mind right now.

“Sebastian?”, he says. 

Steely blue eyes snap up to his and they’re startlingly clear. It takes him a moment to realize why and by then Seb’s hand has already come up to wipe at them.

He sniffles before speaking. “I’ve been sober for years, it was one of the reasons I moved actually. I haven’t had a relapse since I came here and I am not planning on having one again.”

The way he squares his shoulders is a clear warning that he’s about to say something out of his gentle nature, something he wouldn’t say usually. Draco steels himself for a reprimand or even a blunt barb. “Being around you when you’re like this endangers me. I am much more likely to relapse if I’m around someone who has an addiction problem themselves.”

He can’t look at Seb when he’s saying this because it’s so out of character for him to be so blunt. Which is not to say that he’s cowardly because he’s not, it’s just that he’s always so gentle with his words and his actions so watching this version of him with hard eyes and cold words is like a rude awakening.

Then, a thought takes home in his mind adding to the discomfort tenfold. 

_He’s been forced to say this and act this way because of me and because of what I’ve done._

Before he can fully process this and drown in his own guilt, Seb continues: “I want you to get better, I want to help. I want to be there for you, and I will be if you let me.”

“What do you mean?”

“With addiction, you have to want to get better. If you don’t try to, no one can help. And I can’t risk my sobriety for you if you’re not even trying, Draco.”

Those words settle like concrete in his chest, pulling him down into an unknown abyss.

He’s not only hurting himself with those potions but also the kindest person he knows. He’s doing far more damage than just a botched mission.

“I’m sorry,", he offers. 

Sebastian looks up at him sharply, takes in the apology and nods. 

“What’re you apologising for?”, he asks finally.

“I didn’t realise I was putting you at risk,”, Draco admits quietly. It had never bothered him to be selfish before, it’s always made sense to put himself first. Not with this though. He’s wrong here.

Sebastian breaks the silence once again. “And what about the rest of it?”

He looks determined, like he’s not going to leave here till he hears Draco admit to something that’ll either make this or break it.

“I…”

If he was hoping that Seb would save him from saying something he can’t bring himself to say, he was wrong. Because Sebastian doesn’t make any effort to move or speak.

They stand in silence for what feels like hours but is likely only a few minutes.

Sebastian gives in first like always; he sighs and moves away from the ingredients shelf he was leaning against. His eyes are studying Draco, watching him for a reaction but none comes and so Seb moves further away and towards the door.

Draco wants to stop him, wants to make promises he knows he won’t keep but then he thinks of everything Seb’s done for him and he can’t bring himself to.

Just as he’s about to walk out the door, he stops with his back to Draco. His shoulders are stiff like Draco’s never seen them before, not even when he was meeting mother for the first time.

Without looking back, he asks: “That night at the Manor, what you told me--is it still true?”

He knows without asking what Sebastian is referring to. Sebastian speaks again before Draco can answer. He asks, point blank, “Is he the reason you’re doing this to yourself?”

He can lie to himself all he wants, but he owes Seb the truth. So without hesitation, he answers: “Yes.”

Sebastian nods, shoulders sagging as if a heavy weight’s been lifted but he doesn’t turn around. “Then, I wish you luck. Maybe he can do what I couldn’t. Goodbye, Draco.” 

He’s still staring at the empty doorway long after Seb’s left, feeling like the scum of the earth for hurting the one person who was honest with him from the first day and who was there to pick him up at his lowest point.

Well, at least he has a week off to feel sorry for himself and drown in the guilt.

***

“Malfoy! Bloody hell, you're like a cockroach. Nothing can kill you, can it?”

He keeps walking without even looking at the bastard because he’s got better things to do with his day than listen to the shit that falls out of Smith’s mouth.

“Piss off, Smith,”, he throws over his shoulder not even bothering to slow down.

“Oh, I will. After all, everyone around you does eventually piss off, don’t they?”, he says in a smug voice that makes Draco’s feet stop. And when the bastard knows he’s got him, he smirks. “Potter certainly did.”

He swallows whatever was about to come out of his mouth and walks away from Smith’s disgustingly smug face, loud laughter following him down the hall.

 _Well, he’s not wrong_ , that little voice in his head points out over the sound of blood rushing in his ears as he slams the bathroom door closed behind himself.

 _Sebastian did too_ , it says louder in the empty room around him.

He doesn’t make it back to the office this time.

***

 

The French Ministre is in the middle of his address - passionately defending his country’s laws over the treatment of Magical creatures - when the door opens with a loud creak and a tall, well-built man wearing the English Ministry robes barges in looking harried. In the pindrop silence of the room, the sound of his boots squeaking on the floor is thunderously loud.

Everyone in the room is startled by the interruption, eyes fly over to this man as he rushes towards the middle of the front row. The second Harry’s eyes meet his from across the huge oak table, he knows the man is coming for him.

They are currently in the middle of an International Peace Delegation Committee meeting in Romania. He is sitting between the English Minister for Magic and the Irish Delegate from _Aireacht na Draíochta_ and there shouldn’t be anything important enough for this man to barge in and rush towards Harry with wide, panicked eyes while the French Ministre is talking.

It makes no sense. 

Beside him, even Kingsley stiffens up in anticipation. He turns to Harry with a questioning look and all Harry can do is shake his head apologetically just as the man reaches him and leans down to whisper, “Mr. Potter, there’s been an incident, sir. Mr. Malfoy has been taken to St. Mungo’s after a potion overdose--”

Harry doesn’t really process those words right away, it’s like he’s frozen in time and his brain is refusing to catch up because in no world, had he thought that this could possibly be about Draco and now this man is telling him--“He’s tried to kill himself.”

He’s running out of the room before he even realises he’s moved, feet thumping on the ground as he runs down the hall toward--somewhere, where is he going?

“Mr. Potter!”

The man is running toward him with a very red face and desperation coming off him in waves, and Harry can’t bring himself to move all of a sudden. His limbs are too heavy and he feels like he’s going to faint. He feels exhausted.

“Mr. Potter, sir. He’s under observation at the Recovery ward, they just finished operating on him.”

It’s so far away from something Harry thought was possible that it seems like a sick joke.

None of this is happening, it can’t be.

He looks at the man gratefully, mutters a thank you and takes the offered portkey without a single protest. They both know he’d lose limbs if he tried apparating right now.

***

He hasn’t known bone deep exhaustion until now.

He hasn’t known dread--true heart wrenching dread of this kind until now. 

The figure in the bed stirs, a low moan of discomfort escapes past still lips and then finally, Draco opens his eyes.

Harry’s been sitting here by this bed for a long time. The nurses have all told him to leave, knowing full well he wasn’t going to.

It’s been more than twenty hours since the man broke into the room mid-speech in Romania and Harry hasn’t left this spot since then.

He’s too exhausted to pretend.

Draco starts when he sees him, eyes widening quickly as realisation dawns on his paler than usual face. Harry can see the wheels turning, can see flashes of memory coming back to him.

And he can tell the exact moment when Draco remembers himself overdosing. His eyes snap to Harry, fear making the gray almost disappear.

“Why?”

Draco’s eyes dart away at the question; fixed on the ceiling instead of looking at Harry and in the silence of the room, he almost suffocates.

“Why?”, he asks again. This time his voice doesn’t break so much.

No answer. Thin fingers clench around the hospital bedsheet but that’s the only sign that Draco’s even heard him.

“Just tell me why,”, he whispers in the dead silence of the night.

He watches as Draco’s eyes stare at the ceiling before they start drooping and then before Harry knows it, his breathing is slowing down and the fingers clenching around the bedsheet relax.

He watches as Draco’s chest rises and falls with soft breaths as he falls asleep once again.

***

He’s warm and full--content, that’s the word.

Everything feels nice, soft. Nothing hurts. It’s almost suspicious, life has never felt so content which makes him believe there’s magic involved. Maybe he’s feeling the effects of a calming draught--wait, where is he?

He’s in a bed somewhere, on stiff sheets if the feeling under his fingers is any indication.

Why is he awake? What woke him up?

A stern voice from somewhere close to him is saying something and he has to really concentrate to hear it. He thinks he leans toward the voice but he can’t be sure since his eyes are too heavy to open. He wants to know where he is and what this voice is saying--

“--Mr. Potter, you really must go home. It’s been two days nearly and he won’t be ready to leave for at least a few days, anyway. He has to stay under observation after what he tried to do.”

His eyes snap open of their own accord, no longer too heavy. The harsh light in the room makes him blink repeatedly, and if he could lift his hand up he’d try to shield his eyes from the light.

To his left, there’s a woman dressed in the despicable lime green robes of St. Mungo’s. Draco’s woken up to this exact same scene so many times that he could draw it from memory, could tell you exactly what’s on the bedside table and where the door is and how much is the temperature in here.

What he has never woken up to before is his hands bound to the hospital bed. He panics as soon as he feels an extra weight on his limbs, and starts to thrash around but a hand on his chest makes him freeze. Realizing he’d closed his eyes, he opens them again and sees Harry standing over him with a frown on his face.

“Draco, stop struggling, okay? You’re not helping yourself."

“Get me out of these!”, he yells. 

“I--”, Harry gets interrupted by the nurse warning, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Draco turns to look at her, anger and indignation coursing through him: “I’ve been tied to a bed! What is the meaning of this?”

“You were hurting yourself in your sleep,”, the nurse answers. And then she continues, matter-of-factly: “And after you tried to kill yourself, we didn’t want to take any chances.”

That shuts him right up. Harry’s hand twitches where it’s still on his chest and he feels his stomach drop at the realisation that Harry knows what he did.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Harry watching him. His green eyes look tired but alert and his mouth is a thin line. Draco decides to focus on the nurse instead, that won’t break his heart at least.

“Well, I am awake now.”

She lifts a single eyebrow in question - it is nowhere near as intimidating as mother’s-- _Merlin, does mother know?!_

Okay, he can’t think about that right now. He needs to get his hands untied first.

“I’m hardly going to off myself with you here, am I?”, he reasons. 

Harry’s hand on his chest twitches again, this time clenching into a fist before he pulls it away altogether.

The nurse huffs but leans down and casts a spell, the relief is instantaneous. He snatches his hands up and cradles them close to his chest like they are a long lost treasure.

When he looks up, it’s to find two pairs of eyes staring holes into him.

The nurse quickly clears her throat, mumbling something about checking his signs and starts fiddling with the little bedside apothecary she’s brought with her.

And while she works, Draco lays there awkwardly trying not to move or look at Harry who he can feel still staring at him. He should say something, thank Harry for coming or maybe ask if mother’s been notified and if so, why isn’t she here finishing what he started.

 _This is awkward_ , he thinks as the silence stretches on. _He really should say something._

“What are you doing here, Potter? Away from your prestigious job?”

_Not that. He shouldn’t have said that, dammit._

The hurt that flashes across Harry’s face chills him to the very bone and he knows he shouldn’t have said that but well, it’s done now. And it’s not like Harry hasn’t hurt him in the recent past--more like ripped his heart in two but he won’t be too bitter.

The nurse gasps before Harry can react, and Draco is really starting to get pissed off with her. He turns to look up at her and sure enough her eyes are big and round and her mouth is open. She’s probably appalled and offended that someone would talk to the great Harry Potter like that.

He doesn’t get an answer for his question, just a very piercing gaze of eyes that are greener than he ever remembers seeing them. He looks away first like he always does.

“Well, the potions are all gone from your body,”, the nurse announces and Draco’s so close to rolling his eyes.

She must sense that too because her next question is very pointed. “Anything wrong, Mr. Malfoy?”

He considers just shaking his head to save himself the time and effort but then thinks better of it. “No, just thinking about what amazing healer-patient confidentiality you have here at this fine institution. The sheer privacy. Not only did I wake up with someone - not a family member either - present in my room, you are just divulging personal information freely. Just throwing it out there.”

Her face reddens so quickly he’s afraid she’ll be the one needing a bed soon. 

A loud clearing of a throat interrupts the thick tension in the room. Draco looks away from her flushed face to find Harry putting his robes on.

He’s leaving now that he knows Draco’s alive. Well, at least he came.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

Oh.  

He should say something, maybe thank him or--“Haven’t you bothered me enough?”

_Salazar Fucking Slytherin, can you just stop?_

Harry doesn’t seem very upset by that. _He’s probably gotten used to you being an arse_ , his mind provides. _He’s used to being treated like shit and he still keeps coming back._

And sure enough, the next thing out of the Saviour’s mouth is a diplomatic offer rather than a fuck you. “I’ll bring Narcissa with me if you want.”

“No!” He tries not to look too alarmed but Harry’s eyes are curiously boring into his so he has to explain, “She’ll only worry.”

“Well, she is your mother. She should know where her son is.”

_Don’t be rude. Do not be rude._

“I don’t want her to know if she doesn’t already.”

 _See? That wasn’t so bad. You can handle this._ Shut up, I am not a child.

“Okay,”, Harry concedes with a sigh and continues, “--well, I just have a quick errand to run at work. So I’ll be coming bac--”

“Isn’t it the middle of the night? Your new job making you run errands past midnight?”

_You just had to fuck it up, didn’t you?_

“Oh I’m sorry, did I forget to mention that I rushed here because you almost killed yourself?” Draco flinches at the words and the coldness in Harry’s voice that only comes out ever so rarely. “--So I didn’t exactly get the time to tell the entire European Peace Delegation Committee in Romania why I was running out in the middle of a meeting. I feel like I should tell them I’m still alive.”

Draco doesn’t really get a chance to respond to that before Harry turns around and walks out the door.

“Whatever,”, he mutters to himself.

Well, not just himself because the nurse is apparently still here and is offended on Harry’s behalf because she pokes him with a needle when he knows she could do it painlessly and without him noticing.

Perhaps, he shouldn’t anger the people responsible for keeping him alive.

“Excuse my behaviour, just can’t stand being fussed over.” There, that’s a nice placating excuse for being an absolute dick to the nation’s beloved in front of her.

She looks at him with narrowed eyes for a moment, the needle still hanging out of his arm, before nodding and going back to her examination. He feels a slight prick when she removes the needle before casting a quick _Scourgify_.

Draco believes this conversation to be over but apparently she’s got something to say. “At least he’s brave enough to try, none of us would dare.”

All of a sudden, he remembers why she looks so familiar, she’d been the one who’d treated him last year when he’d split his leg open and then yelled at the healers about being incompetent and unfocused because they’d kept asking him how he was doing instead of healing him.

Right.

“So, when did you say I could leave?”, he asks in his best _naive Hufflepuff_ voice.

Her eyebrows scrunch up in a frown and that’s when Draco knows he’ll have to escape out of here.

“Mr. Malfoy, you almost died. It took us twenty seven hours to remove all traces of harmful potions from your body.”

“Not really an answer, is it?”, he pushes.

A scowl appears on her face and if he had the slightest bit of self-preservation left in him, he’d lay off the person currently holding a wand over his heart.

“Healer Styles will be coming by to speak to you about it all. Feel free to ask him when you can go.”

By the sounds of it, Draco really shouldn’t ask this Healer Styles anything about leaving. He’s been in this situation before, well not exactly this situation but similar, and it’s never a good thing to try to push these people around.

He’d learned that the first time a healer had refused to give him a clear bill of health even after he’d been released only because he’d asked the man why he was being detained at all. He hadn’t been able to go back to work for a full week because the healer wouldn’t sign the Ministry forms to announce him fit for work. Robards had not appreciated the floo call he’d gotten from the healer about his staff either.

While he’s been lost in thought, the nurse seems to have finished her tests and is packing up the little portable apothecary. He’d ask for another dose of the calming draught or maybe a sleep draught if he wasn’t sure she’d run and get Healer Styles right now. And more likely than not, Healer Styles will go on and on about potion abuse and addiction.

So he doesn’t say anything and just stays where he is, thankful that she hasn’t deemed it necessary to tie him to his bed again.

Just before walking out the door, she pauses with her hand on the cart and turns around to face him. And he’s had enough experience to know when someone’s about to make his entire world tip sideways with words, so he turns away from her. 

A frustrated sigh tells him she’s still there.

“He ran in here with a huge gash on his forehead, bleeding and breathless. Didn’t even let anyone look at his head till he saw you and made sure you were alive. Then he stayed in that chair for two days, didn’t even leave to eat till we brought him food.”

He doesn’t dare look at her, and can’t bring himself to let her see him.

“If I were you, Mr. Malfoy, I’d go easy on him.”

She leaves without waiting to see if he’ll reply.

He wasn’t going to anyway.

***

It feels like they’ve travelled back in time to years ago when he and Harry Potter didn’t have anything to say to each other except scathing words.

Well, at least you’re not trying to rip each other to shreds, that disruptive voice in his head offers.

They’re standing side by side in front of the lifts, shoulders almost brushing but not quite. There’s a distinct smell of rage in the air. Anyone walking by wouldn’t be able to guess that the two of them have spent the last five years practically in each other’s pockets.

The lift doors open to reveal a miraculously empty carriage, and without realizing Draco’s body sags in relief. Every other time that he’s been discharged from St. Mungo’s with Harry by his side, he’s had to step into a packed lift and then spend five minutes hearing people around him whispering about Harry bloody Potter and _why’s he here, is he here with Malfoy, do you think they were duelling, did potter take him down…_

“Are you going to say anything?”

He starts at the question. Lost as he was in his own thoughts, he hadn’t really paid attention to the man beside him as the lift started going down without any stops. In the reflection of the glass wall, he can see Harry watching him.

He looks away from the reflection and down at his feet. “There’s nothing to say,”, he whispers with a shrug.

“Really? Because from where I’m standing, there’s a lot you can say.”

He should’ve known this would happen. He should’ve prepared for this. But he didn’t.

“Don’t do this now.” 

“Oh, should I wait till the next time you try to kill yourself?”

His eyes snap up to look into Harry’s at the blunt question, expecting him to look mad. Instead, he finds startlingly shining green eyes.

_Tear filled green eyes, you mean._

He can’t do this now.

He looks away from Harry, clenches his jaw like father taught him to do when any untoward feeling is becoming too heavy to bear and the mask of nonchalance is on the verge of slipping. It works like a charm.

And with that much envied Malfoy composure, he says: “What I do with my life is nobody’s business but mine.”

His voice doesn’t waver one bit as he lies through his teeth.

Beside him, Harry’s silent. Draco can sense something uneasy coming off of him in waves but he doesn’t want to disturb the delicate peace that’s just settling between them now.

So he avoids looking at Harry even as they exit the lift. He avoids touching Harry as they walk through the overcrowded front lobby of St. Mungo’s. And he avoids leaning into Harry’s touch when he puts a hand on Draco’s arm to side-along him to the flat.

He sways on the spot when his feet touch solid ground and Harry’s there to hold him up with strong arms around his recovering body. His breath comes out in a rough exhale at finding himself in this position, but reality crashes down soon enough and he pulls himself away even as Harry’s hands tighten on his waist before letting go.

Draco walks toward his bedroom silently, not knowing what to say to Harry. Not knowing if he wants Harry to leave or if he wants him to stay.

Harry doesn’t say anything either, just follows silently.

His back is to Harry, opening the wardrobe in search of comfortable clothes so he can change out of the dirty robes he’s been sent home in, when a quiet question breaks the pin-drop silence of the flat around them.

“You really think that?”, Harry says suddenly.

He turns around, favourite pair of pajamas and the black cashmere sweater clutched in his hands, to find Harry watching him from where he’s leaning in the doorway.

It’s such a mundane thing, Harry leaning there against the wall of his bedroom but it steals his breath away for some reason.

He’s not even sure what Harry’s asking, too busy looking at him. “Think what?”, he asks.

Harry moves his head slightly and the light from the sunroof catches his face just perfectly, lighting up those damned eyes behind his glasses.

“That what you do with your life has nothing to do with anyone else,”, says Harry.

He moves back a step to lean against the sturdy wardrobe, to give himself something to do because standing here in his room with Harry asking him such an intimate question is making his mind fuzzy.

He’s having a hard time with reality anyway.

“Yes.”

“Then also think about the people who love you.” Harry’s voice softens then, almost inaudible as he continues. “Think about your mother, about Teddy and Andromeda. About Sebastian.”

He can’t stand here and pretend that they’re talking about anyone other than themselves. Not in this room, and not like this - barely speaking even as they stand on opposite corners with a sea of distance between them even if it doesn’t feel like it.

Even if it feels like Harry’s right there, close as he can be.

His voice comes out in a whisper too. “And what about you, Harry?”

He seems to start at Draco’s words, like he wasn’t expecting them. Like he hadn’t realized the conversation they’re really having.

Then, he frowns at Draco. “Of course, I don’t want you to hurt yourself. You’re my--my friend.”

No. He’s done pretending. He won’t stand for it, not here not in his home when he’s just come back from the hospital after trying to kill himself and not when Harry’s been looking at him like that. Like he’s the one whose life almost ended today.

No.

“Oh, is that what we are?”, he asks. 

Harry leans away from the wall, straightening up and uncrossing his arms as he answers, “I don’t know what we are. I’ve been in love with you for five years and I thought you might be too but you proved me wrong and you moved on. And I still haven’t figured out how not to want you. So no, I don’t know what we are.” 

His skin prickles, heat climbs up his neck but his arms feel so cold that his body shivers for a moment. He hears a startled gasp and it takes him a moment to realise it’s him. 

Harry doesn’t stop talking and he doesn’t stop looking right at him as he speaks, “We act like there’s nothing there, that it doesn’t feel like jumping off a cliff and being in free fall every time we get stuck staring at each other. We’ve been pretending for years that we don’t remember almost giving in so many times. Like it didn’t feel like the end of the world in that one suspended moment before we pulled ourselves back from the brink. So no, I don't know what we are.”

He doesn’t know what to do or say. The clothes he was clutching are lying at his feet but he doesn’t remember letting them go. 

The room seems much smaller as if the walls are pushing them together or maybe Harry’s moved.

All Draco can think is: “You left me.”

Harry’s quiet opposite him, eyes lowered to the ground.

“You left when you promised you’d always be there, no matter what.”

He can’t help it that time, can’t stop the sob that escapes his trembling lips as his eyes fill up with tears no matter how hard he tries to clench his jaw. This is the culmination of five years of holding on. Merlin, it’s such a huge release from everything he’s had to keep buried inside.

He watches the swimming image of Harry as it gets closer to him till he feels a hand on his cheek. As soon as he blinks, Harry becomes clearer and his thumb brushes away the tears from Draco’s face.

His breath catches when the touch finally registers, when the warmth sinks in and he realises that Harry’s here. Harry’s standing here in front him, he’s touching Draco and his own eyes are wet.

“I didn’t leave,”, Harry says, shaking his head. “I gave you up. Not because Sebastian said he fancied you, and not because I thought you fancied him but because I couldn’t keep doing it, Draco. I couldn’t keep hurting, couldn’t keep killing myself over this.”

He leans into Harry and lets the words wash over him. Maybe, he should speak. Maybe, he should let Harry know that he feels the same way but he can’t seem to open his mouth. Can’t seem to pull away from the gentle touch that he’s afraid is all a dream and will disappear any moment.

And Harry doesn’t push him, doesn’t try to move. Maybe he can see the fear in Draco’s eyes. Or maybe, he too, is afraid. Scared that they’ve said something and done something here and now that isn’t going to last outside this room.

Draco moves then, brings his hand up to Harry’s on his cheek and laces his fingers through Harry’s. Circe, this would’ve been such a forbidden touch just a few minutes ago.

Harry’s eyes widen at the gesture, his nose flares and he breathes out harshly as if relieved that Draco’s actually here even though he’s been touching him for some time.

He looks determined now, the doubt from moments ago completely vanished from his eyes as he moves closer and presses his forehead against Draco’s. He can feel Harry’s warm breath on his cheeks, and even that little thing is so sacred to him.

Harry takes a breath and whispers, “I couldn’t walk into that office every morning and see you with Sebastian and pretend that I wasn’t dying inside.” He stops and looks into Draco’s eyes, his glasses fogging up from Draco’s breath but that doesn’t stop him. He continues, “I couldn’t keep pretending week after week, sat opposite you at that breakfast table and acting like it didn’t kill me to not have woken up next to you. Because you’re it for me.”

Harry pulls back, his hands reach up and hold Draco’s face in a gesture that says he really wants Draco to listen to what he’s about to say next. “You’re it."

A moment of silence and then Harry mutters, “But I could never say that, could never admit it. You wouldn’t let me. So no, I don’t know what we are. Maybe we’re killing each other is what we are.”

“I don’t want that.” He realises it’s him who’s said that.

Harry laughs wetly, sniffling as he rests his forehead against Draco’s once again. “I don’t either,”, he whispers.

“Good.” His eyes slip closed at the sheer serenity in this moment. He can feel Harry’s breath on his face, can feel his chest moving against his own and his hand moving to the back of Draco’s neck and he has never been happier in his life than this moment.

Just standing here with Harry, entwined in every way they can be and yet just holding each other really.

“Sebastian?”, Harry asks quietly after a few moments.

Draco shakes his head, feels the same sadness that’s been keeping him company ever since Seb walked out of that cellar.

“Why?”, Harry asks in a voice that breaks over the single word. Draco feels a strange sense of deja vu, like he’s heard that word in that same voice before but he can’t remember when.

Harry pushes his forehead against Draco's to bring him back to the present. “Hm?”, he asks again.

Oh, right. Sebastian.

“He found me, unconscious after I’d taken the potion once. Told me about his own problems and wanted to help me.”

Harry hums, pulls him closer still as if sensing the guilt that’s once again taking root in his chest.

“Then?”, he prompts.

“Then, he asked me to a make a promise I couldn’t.”

“What promise?”

“That I’ll stop trying to hurt myself.”

Harry tenses, his whole body freezes as he starts to say, “Draco--”

“Please don’t.”

He nods against Draco’s shoulder, breathes in and out with a bit of a struggle as tension in his body lets up but doesn’t say anything.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. I was just--trying to cope.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “Okay.”

Draco insists, “I don’t have to, anymore.”

“Okay.”

***

He’s not sure how he got here; here being in his bed still wearing yesterday’s clothes. It doesn’t feel quite right. Feels like he’s missed a few steps. Where was he?

Then it comes to him, and the realization hits so hard that it feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him. He sits up in bed, looks around to find a sign, any sign that what he’s just remembered actually happened and wasn’t a dream or something his recovering mind conjured up.

His eyes land on the shirt strewn over the back of the high-winged chair. It’s not his and even in the darkness of the room, he can tell whose it is. That means he was here.

“Is this really happening?”, he wonders aloud but gets no answer from the empty room.

With a newfound energy, he gets out of bed and goes looking in the rest of the house hoping he’s here somewhere.

“No, no. no.” He can hear the desperation slowly crawling into his voice as he walks toward the kitchen, the only place in the flat he hasn’t searched. “No, no.”

Harry’s not here.

He can’t go back now, he knows. Can’t go back to doubting himself and second guessing everything. He’s going to sort this out today.

“But first, a shower.”

An hour later, dressed in the most expensive clothes he owns and the best cut robes, he stands in front of the floo calling for Harry Potter’s flat.

The fire doesn’t turn green which leaves him frowning. Usually even if there’s no one to answer the floo, it will take a message. An unlit floo means the address he’s asking for has been shut down permanently.

Well, there’s only one other place he knows that Harry would live.

Kreacher is waiting for him when he steps through the flames at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, heart in his throat.

“Master Harry is not being home.”

Draco starts at the old elf’s voice; he hasn’t been here in years and he wasn’t expecting anyone to be home because didn’t Harry say Kreacher had started going to help at Hogwarts to pass the time?

He shakes his head to focus on what’s important, and looks around the house he hasn’t been in for years. In fact, the last time had been when Harry was planning on renovating the place and that was just after they’d been paired.

The wrinkly elf had bowed deeply to him then, whispering about a true Black heir finally coming to take his rightful place. Harry had snorted and made jokes about how the elf hated his guts and was elated to see the return of a true descendant of the House of Black.

Now, as Draco looks at him, Kreacher doesn’t hide the disdain from his face as he looks at Draco like he’s an inconvenience. Well, looks like he’s come to accept Harry as the true owner of this place then. Good.

Hiding a smile behind a slight curl of his lips, he cocks his head at the elf.

“Well, would you know where he is now?”

Large eyes blink back at him with no sign of understanding. His ears move the slightest bit and Draco recognizes that gesture as the elf holding back on him. And if Draco knows anything about the Black family elves, he knows he can’t get it out of him in any pleasant way.

“Right. Thank you, Kreacher.”

He bows, not as deeply as last time, and disappears with a loud pop.

Left on his in the large drawing room, he looks around and recognizes the changes Harry must’ve made. The walls no longer seem cold, covered in dark wallpaper. Harry must’ve painted them himself, the soft cream colour suits the room and makes it seem much bigger and homier.

He can picture Harry in his worn muggle clothes, climbing ladders with the muggle brushes and ending up covered in paint. It brings an involuntary smile to his lips and even with no one in the room, he feels abashed so he bites down on the smile and turns to the wall where a large, comfortable looking sofa takes up most of the space. He can’t help but walk over to the monstrosity and run his fingers over the back of it. The velvet is soft under his touch, comfortable in a way the furniture in the Manor never was.

This sofa is definitely something Potter has bought because Walburga Black would’ve died five times over before allowing a ratty old red sofa be placed in her prestigious drawing room. Draco gets a chuckle out of that, the thought of Walburga’s portrait shouting obscenities at Harry as he hefted the sofa into the room because of course, he would carry the sofa rather than levitate it and of course Walburga would go off her mind cursing seven generations of Potters before and after him.

There are other bits and pieces in the room that are undeniably Harry - that one sneaker peeking from under the diwan in the corner is no doubt one of his - but more than anything, it’s the warmth in here. The mishmash of odd things littering the room is what makes it a home.

Shaking his head against such sentimental thoughts, Draco steps out into the foyer to find the large table he and Harry had bought for his flat from a second hand muggle shop back when Harry was teaching Draco the ways of the muggles. And just like he expected, the tabletop looks like there’s been a mishap with a book.

He sighs and starts rummaging through the dozens of papers and sheets of parchment covering the table, finding letters from last year even. The idiot must’ve shrunk the table and brought it over from the flat as is, not even bothering to sort through the papers.

“Aha!”, he crows having finally found what he was looking for after spending ten minutes of sorting through The Chosen One’s fan mail.

“Bastard’s got me sorting mail!”, he mutters under his breath tearing a piece of parchment from one of the rare opened letters.

But nothing will dampen the anticipation coursing through him right now as he steps in front of the floo and reads the address off of the piece of parchment. As he passes through the too tight chute, pushing his arms as close to his body as he can, the apprehension makes it difficult to stay still and not splinch himself.

He lands in a truly extravagant room with its high ceilings painted in beautiful murals, rich walls decorated with delicate silk and the lushest carpets he’s seen outside the Manor. And the people in the room, dressed up in impeccable uniforms sat behind a desk against the far wall look at him with curiosity as he steps up to the desk.

He can feel the young witch’s eyes rake across his figure from head to toe and on any other occasion he’d make it a point to criticize her lack of professionalism but he’s got more important things to do right now.

In what he knows is a cold, indifferent voice, he asks: “Could you direct me toward the European Magical Transportation Laws Delegation?”

Her face shows the barest hint of a flirtatious smile but he doesn’t bother responding in favour of raising an eyebrow to emphasize his question. She seems to get the hint and is quick to cover up her embarrassment by pointing a somewhat shaky finger toward the door.

Truth be told, it is flattering to be looked at so thoroughly but he’s not wearing his best robes and his midnight blue suit to be sized up by random strangers. He has a very specific person in mind who he wants to be gawking at him, and the way he’s being looked at right now bodes well for him.

“Thank you,”, he offers with a soft smile but she’s already turning away from him and looking at the wizard beside her with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

If he had a moment, he’d stop and ask her about it but he hasn’t. That anticipation that’s been making him dizzy since he woke up this morning is now sizzling in his veins and in a moment of uncharacteristic Gryffindor idiocy, he takes off running down the corridor like a madman with the soles of his shoes clacking loudly against the marble floors.

He doesn’t stop till he gets to the auditorium and even then, it’s only to catch his breath. He can feel his face burning up half from the exertion of having run down long corridors in Italian leather shoes definitely not made for any kind of running, and half from what is on the other side of those doors.

Without a single thought to the original plan of waiting till the meeting finishes, he puts his hands to the heavy oak doors and pushes them open to walk into the dark room beyond with his breath firmly held.

***

The droning voice of Chancellor Constantin stutters to a stop when the doors to the auditorium fly open just as he was about to start explaining the importance of using inconspicuous and enchanted objects in portkey travel - Harry’s been yawning continuously for at least half an hour now but he’s not the only one. Both Kingsley and Minister Carlevaro of Italy have had their hands in front of their mouths all morning.

Which is why the sudden opening of the doors and the harsh lightening of the room thanks to automatic sensor spells leads to everyone sitting up in their chairs completely startled and awake. Chancellor Constantin looks irritated at being disrupted but no one’s paying him any attention as they’re all busy staring towards the doors and the figure standing there hidden in the darkness of the dimly lit corridor beyond.

Harry recognizes the lean figure at once but only a moment before it steps forward into the light and sharp features become visible. A few gasps echo around the room, telling Harry that the intruder has been identified.

A wave of murmurs goes through the audience and from where he’s sitting, Harry can hear snippets of conversation pointing to recognition and names being said.

The intruder doesn’t seem bothered by the sounds though, as he descends the stairs in such a confident manner that only he could do it. The bold cut of his robes, long legs encased in wool peeking from underneath said robes and the hair coiffed just right makes Harry stand there in his seat staring like an idiot.

It isn’t until the figure reaches the bottom of the stairs and walks across the floor to stop in front of Harry, that he realizes he’s not only been staring but practically drooling.

“A word, Harry?”, he asks as if he hasn’t just interrupted an international forum meeting by sauntering into a restricted area like a bloody model on a ramp. He can clearly hear two witches talking about the indecent allure and elegance of this man, and wants to snap at them but he’s otherwise occupied.

Harry’s mouth tries to make a noise but it doesn’t come out, and the git in front of him is not helping by standing there smirking like he knows exactly what he’s done to harry. And like an idiot, all he can do is nod dumbly and take the arm offered to him.

“Shall we?”, he says.

Harry can tell that he’s exaggerating his posh accent, it’s never been quite that thick, but it does things to him that he’d rather not admit to so he simply nods again except he’s not sure how walking works in this exact moment.

A truly tortured groan sounds from somewhere over there but Harry can’t be arsed to look right now. His life is changing forever in this moment, he can feel it. He knows it’ll never be the same again and he doesn’t care if someone’s unhappy, it’s not his problem---

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake! Minister Shackleb--Kingsley!’, says a whining voice. “Can your guard stop having people barge into meetings? It’s quite rude, you know? And against the law!”

Well, that seems to do it.

Harry can feel heat climbing up his neck and face at the distress in the Romanian Minister’s voice. The man looks two seconds away from fetching his wand and jinxing them with warts.

Harry takes pity, more on himself than Minister Constantin, and turns to the room at large. Merlin, the embarrassment is killing him but he owes them an apology so he takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders before announcing, “Pardon me, I--we’ll take this outside.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Kingsley winking at him.

_Oh Godric, the English Minister for Magic is winking at him like George would after saying something wildly inappropriate. What is happening?_

He feels movement beside him, feels a warm hand coming up to grip his and that’s the moment that he, very shamelessly, doesn’t care where he is or why.

It should bother him that he’s been disrespectful to some of the most powerful people in the world but he’s busy recovering from the shock of having Kingsley wink at him but mostly because Draco Malfoy has just broken into a very serious Magical Transportation Laws meeting and taken his hand like the hero does to the heroine in the muggle films. It’s not even that Draco’s broken in here, or that he ambled down those stairs like he was modelling, it’s the sheer fact that he has taken Harry’s hand in front of all these people in a show of affection that he’d never expect from a Malfoy in public.

Draco doesn’t bother to apologize at all, nothing surprising there, and grips Harry’s hand even harder and pulls him out of the room too quickly for him to react in any way other than let himself get pulled.

And then they’re standing outside the auditorium in the empty hallway and Harry can’t speak because those eyes--Merlin, those eyes are looking at him like he’s the only person in the world and that’s all Harry’s ever wanted in life.

For someone to look at him like that--for Draco to look at him like that.

“Godric, your eyes. They could drive a fella mad."

Draco holds his eyes for a long moment, draws out the anticipation that’s crackling between them for too bloody long, before finally answering: “Potter, you had better apparate us now if you don’t want to be done for immodest acts in a government office.”

***

He gasps, sucks in all the air he can because he’s never felt this alive ever. In all his life, living through a war, almost dying more than a few times, riding on the back of a broom with fire licking at his heels, running through the wildest forests chasing some killer, apparating to the top of the tallest building and coming dizzyingly close to death--never. He’s never felt this alive.

Harry has him against the wall, pushing his body against Draco’s in the most sinful way and kissing him like he’ll die if he doesn’t. Draco pulls him closer, grabs him by the back of his neck and holds him in place. He bites Harry’s chin, his lips, teases and fucks his mouth with his tongue. This is all he’s wanted for years, all his dreams and fantasies under his fingertips and teeth.

Harry pushes a thigh between his legs and he can feel Harry’s cock and that’s like being hit by lightning. He pulls back. Harry takes advantage of his surprise and walks him back till he tumbles over to the bed.

Harry gets on the bed too, comes forward on all fours like a predator and Draco can only lie there panting and watching as Harry’s eyes become almost black. He waits a moment, then loses his patience and pulls Harry on top of him, finds his mouth again.

Merlin, that mouth that’s distracted him in countless Ministry meetings and that bloody mouth that’s said the most infuriating things over the years and that mouth that Darco’s wanted on his more than he’s ever wanted anything.

He pushes his hands under Harry’s shirt, spreads them across his back, his broad back. Circe, he can feel the muscles moving under Harry’s skin and he can feel the raw strength of him under his fingertips. It’s intoxicating and it steals his breath away when Harry flips them over with no real effort.

He’s looming over Draco, pushes his legs apart with his hands gripping Draco’s thighs. He settles himself there, between Draco’s spread legs. Oh merlin, he leans down and they’re touching head to toe. It’s like being stunned and released from petrificus all at once.

He reaches up and touches Harry’s back again, drags his nails across his back and watches as Harry’s mouth drops open in a silent moan as Draco’s blunt nails mark his skin.

Harry pushes forward with his hips then, an instinctive motion that leaves them both groaning. He can’t believe he’s touching Harry like this. And truth be told, he won’t need much more to come undone. Just a little more of this and he’ll be falling down that sinful cliff.

Harry gets the message, he reaches down and unbuttons Draco’s trousers. His cold hand sneaks inside, curling around him and the touch leaves Daco panting. Just the feeling of Harry’s fingers on him, the way he tightens his grip just a little bit and then tugs his hand down his cock. Oh merlin!

He yells, with reckless abandon. He yells and Harry’s hand moves faster, his hips thrust into Draco’s and he yells louder.

 _Shh_ , harry says. _You’ll wake up the neighbours._

And then, just after saying that Harry pulls his hand out and without a warning, pulls his trousers down roughly. Draco has to bite down on his hand to keep the sound in because Harry’s so bloody quick and unpolished and rough in his movements.

And then, he snaps his fingers and Draco’s naked. The bastard’s just done a wandless, wordless spell. And Draco doesn’t even get to complain because the very next moment, Harry’s clothes disappear too leaving a very hot and naked Potter on top of him.

Harry leans down again, and the second Draco feels Harry’s warm skin against his cock, he cries out. Harry moves above him, skin against skin and his mouth on Draco’s neck and down on his chest leaving a wet path behind.

Harry shifts his hips and Draco feels a hard, throbbing cock against his own . It seems the Saviour is very generously proportioned. Draco would bitch about it if said cock wasn’t currently nestled against his hipbone, driving him mad. He grips Harry’s shoulders, nails digging into his biceps because Harry’s moving punishingly slowly and Draco’s cock is caught between his and Harry’s hard stomach and this is the most erotic thing he’s ever experienced.

Then, Harry thrusts down roughly, hard and fast all of a sudden and Draco shouts. Harry doesn’t stop, his thighs spread Draco’s legs even wider and his cock is now rubbing against Draco’s and it’s wet, it’s fast and it’s beautiful and Harry bites down on his chest, closes his teeth around Draco’s nipple and Merlin, he can’t anymore.

He comes, shuddering with the intensity of it and Harry’s teeth won’t relent and then he’s coming too and Draco lays there, spent, panting, eyes closed with stars behind his eyelids and Harry’s heaving body on top of him. He falls asleep like that, covered in come, bruised and bitten in a dozen places.

Harry cleans him up, puts him to rights and comes to sleep beside him. And he, despite all his denials the next morning and for the rest of of his life, clings to Harry like a bowtruckle to a tree.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: A potion overdose. A suicide attempt. 
> 
> So, here we are. It's all been resolved. Well, nearly. There's going to be an epilogue, tying up the loose ends. A few things I'd like to mention:
> 
> \- Hufflepuffs are pure and good. We need them, especially us Slytherins. But we're all stubborn bastards who don't know what to do with someone as pure as Hufflepuffs so we resort to being dickheads as our way of dealing. That's my thinking behind Draco and James.
> 
> \- I read a Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes fic where Bucky overdoses and Steve rushes to the hospital to be beside him. It really affected me, this fic, overwhelmed me enough that I spent two days recovering from it. And once I did, I wanted to write something half as overwhelming as that fic. I wanted to try my hand at something new - a suicide attempt. And it is with trepidation that I present you with the suicide attempt plot in this fic. I hope I did it half as well as this fic: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1654385/chapters/3509126
> 
> \- There's a scene in here, the hospital scene where the nurse tells Draco Harry's the only one brave enough to try to fuss over him. That scene's from a little show called Vera. It struck me as such a real, tangible thing when I saw it. And I could clearly picture Draco having that same reaction to someone trying to worry about him. So I created a scene around it.
> 
> \- The what I do with my life is my business, and the subsequent 'What about you, Harry?/Is that what we are?' scene are both adaptations from Castle. Merlin, when those things happened I was sat there almost crying because Rick and Kate were so good and it was such an intense culmination to one of the longest will they/won't they pairs on TV. I hope I've done those scenes justice. 
> 
> So, what'd you think, then?


	13. You make me happy, when skies are grey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone!

In his life, Harry Potter has had many an embarrassing experience. Many.

But nothing has ever and will ever compare to the moment Narcissa Malfoy walks in on Harry slowly and thoroughly pleasuring her son. Her son, who has the filthiest mouth in the world and who threatens and curses like he’s in excruciating pain, in the middle of getting fucked.

And to top it all off, Narcissa insists on waiting in the living room while they finish. As if Harry can ever again get hard after being caught like that. As if he’ll ever live down the embarrassment of screaming like a prepubescent little boy while his dick was inside the son of the woman who is currently waiting in the living room - for them to finish.

At least Draco is equally mortified, if not more. He’d almost broken Harry’s dick in half in his hurry to cover himself. Well, it can be rough, he understand, seeing your mother appear out of thin air while you’re attached to someone in the most intimate way possible. Only, he’d have appreciated it if the bastard hadn’t forgotten that Harry’s dick isn’t elastic.

Anyway, it’s all done now. Everyone’s genitals are intact and properly attached and well covered. 

They’re all sitting in the living room now, all three of them. A thick cloud of awkwardness engulfs the entire flat, making the air stuffy and too warm. But Harry will die of overheating before he lets go of the death grip he has on his winter cloak.

Narcissa breaks the silence. And just like her son, doesn’t do it delicately like the situation demands but instead drops a bomb with all the finesse of a giant making his way through Ollivander’s.

“So, I suppose that fake relationship with Mr. Barnes really did pay off.”

Harry’s head swings up like the branches of the Whomping Willow at her words. And the fact that his brain just went to the Whomping Willow before anything else must mean something, but he’s far too busy looking between mother and son as a seemingly competitive staring match stretches on. A silent staring match.

“You knew?”, he blurts and immediately regrets bringing everyone’s attention to himself. 

Narcissa looks away from Draco and at him with an indignant expression. “I beg your pardon?”, she asks sounding scandalised, as if he’s just asked her if she’s wearing knickers. Which, terrible horrible thought why would his brain even-- “About Sebastian?”, he says weakly trying to get away from that scary image.

“I’m not quite sure what you’re asking me, Mr. Potter. Are you asking if I knew that my son brought Mr. Barnes here as a ruse--”  
Draco’s suddenly on his feet, making some kind of motion towards his mother who doesn’t so much as look at him as she continues, “-- so that I wouldn’t tell you that he has been pining after you for the better part of five years?”

That….that doesn’t make any sense. He sits there replaying in his mind what she’s just said and then suddenly everything clears -- “You what?!”, he yells at Draco, picturing a dozen ways of wringing the git’s bloody neck.

“Well, to be fair, Mr. Potter, you have been making eyes at him for just as long.”

He turns face to Narcissa again, lost for words. “I...”

When she’s certain that he won’t be finishing that sentence, she says: “If you think that you are, in any way, capable of hiding what you’re thinking or feeling, I’d suggest you reconsider.”

He sits quietly chastised. She drinks her tea, and Draco pretends to be drinking his, and Harry just has to know.

“So when you said your mother was forcing you to get married, that was a lie?”, he demands.

Before Draco can speak, Narcissa cuts in. “Actually, that wasn’t a complete lie. A half truth, if you will.” Turning to her son, she adds: “Very sly of you, Draco.”

And he, the Slytherin bastard that he is, gives her a little smile.

Well, excuse Harry for wanting to know just what the fuck kind of game has been played here. “So what? You did threaten him with an arranged marriage, then?”

“I did,”, she says and puts down her teacup, picking up a chocolate biscuit as she goes. She looks right at him and he startles to find her intense gaze directed at him. She adds, “If he didn’t tell you about this obsession--”

“It’s not an obsession!”

“-- and didn’t let me tell you either, then I thought it was only logical for him to marry someone else.”

He stares at her, slack-jawed as she sits there eating her biscuit as if she hasn’t just said what she’s said.

“You threatened him that you’d tell me? ... That he fancied me?”, he finds himself asking in a voice that doesn’t sound like his at all.

“Could you both stop talking like I’m not here?”, Draco snaps all of a sudden.

But Narcissa, completely ignoring him, responds: “Well, I was tired of his constant moping.” 

“I do not mope!”, the git barks, causing both Harry and Narcissa to look at each other with a very distinct ‘can you believe him?’ expression.

“Yes, Mr. Potter. As I was saying, it was getting to be very tiresome to see him moping about. And you were no better, I hear. Dromeda told me all about the time she asked if you were seeing anyone and you went into some sort of speech about how you were too ill-fated to find love. I’d had enough, frankly. So yes, I threatened Draco to tell you or I would. Except, of course, he is his father’s son--”, she stops abruptly, as if realizing that she’s said something terribly wrong. She looks at Draco worriedly, relief clear on her face when she finds him too busy scowling into his tea.

She goes on, “Draco always has been very reserved with his emotions. So I wasn’t surprised when he announced that he had found someone. I knew from the first moment I saw Mr. Barnes that he was a smoke screen. So you see, the whole time you thought you were fooling me, my son was making a fool out of you.”

Harry tries to catch Draco’s eye but the git is single-mindedly staring at his feet and the moment he looks up, Harry is going to glare a hole through his bloody head.

Narcissa chuckles, drawing both his and Draco’s attention, and announces: “But really, you’re both equally foolish, if you ask me.”

He couldn’t agree more, he thinks, as he finally catches Draco’s eye and sees the rosy redness on the bastard’s cheeks.

They are both colossal idiots.

***

“So. Your mother thinks you’re very reserved with your emotions.”

Draco moves warily, stepping around Harry with the pot of stew in his hands. “And?”, he asks, sounding indifferent for all the world to hear.

Harry chuckles to himself stirring the rice on the stove. He can feel eyes on the back of his neck, but more importantly he can feel the glare making his hair stand on end. Setting the spoon against the pot, he turns and shrugs. “Just wonder what she’d think if she heard about you barging into the European Magical Transportation Laws Delegation, dressed to kill, and pulling me out of there like you were going to shag me the moment the door closed behind us.”

Draco’s standing silently by the dining table, head bowed and cheeks aflame.

Now if Harry knows him at all, there’s going to be an outburst in three, two, on-- “Well, I’m not the one who sat by my bedside for days like a maiden waiting on her wounded betrothed to wake up!”

Harry feels himself stiffen in response, a sharp memory of running breathlessly into that room to see Draco lying deathly still rushes through his mind. He watches as Draco realises too late and his head snaps up, pale eyes widening as they meet Harry’s.

He feels his appetite disappear. In this rush of finally getting what he’s wanted for so long, he completely forgot about it. And now as he turns around to cover the rice because he knows neither of them is hungry anymore, he can’t help but relive the fear and guilt that had dominated his every thought for those wretched hours.

Draco’s leaning against the table watching Harry when he turns back around, he’s silent but his eyes speak volumes. Harry sighs, not wanting this to hang between them like some rancid unpleasantry. 

He wants to ask and say and tell a million things but he doesn’t want to push Draco into a corner so he waits.

Draco’s voice is brittle when he speaks. “I haven’t drunk anything since--well, you know.”

He nods, still wanting to hear what Draco wants to say first.

“Harry,”, he whispers and Harry moves, like a puppet on a string being reeled in. He doesn’t mind one bit that his feet have moved of their accord, that his body goes to Draco so thoughtlessly.

He pulls Draco into himself, brings his arms up and holds him close and breathes in his scent and sighs. He’s heard all he needed to hear.

***

It’s three hours later, they’ve each had about a bottle of wine and no food since this morning so there should be food. They should eat.

Draco’s fetching the plates and Harry should be getting the bowls ready but he’s busy staring at Draco. He’s too busy thinking how lucky he is that he’s got Draco after everything they’ve been through since meeting as children pitted against each other.

He moves without really thinking about it and pushes Draco into the counter who doesn’t act fast enough and ends up with his arms flailing in the air. “Wha--”, Draco squeaks but Harry’s already kissing the back of his neck and trailing his hands over Draco’s chest and moving his hips against that utterly magnificent arse.

Draco responds well, he turns his face just so and licks into Harry’s mouth and pushes back. “Ha--Harry--”, Draco’s voice hitches over his name and it sounds so beautiful. The way he gasps, hand flying up to his mouth to stop the sound that’s already escaped egging Harry on further.

He spreads his feet apart farther, settling behind Draco and thrusting once more making a thrill of hot fiery arousal run down his own spine at the feeling of Draco’s solid strength against his cock.

“Harry,”, he whispers once again, melting back into Harry’s chest and grinding his arse back against Harry’s hardness. He doesn’t stop at that, pushes back, up and down and up and--

“Fuck!”, Harry swears as his fingers try to grip the marble countertop as Draco tortures him even more, rubbing his arse against his leaking cock. And the git’s making these sounds--these desperate, hungry sounds and his hands fly back and Harry feels them on his arse, pushing him further into Draco and it’s so sudden and unexpected that he freezes when Draco’s finger brushes down the crotch seam of his jeans.

Slowly, Draco turns around in his arms and looks at Harry with his eyes dark and flashing with something dangerous. Harry’s legs almost give out under him when he feels Draco’s hand on his arse again, this time deliberate and slow as a finger trails down along the seam between his arse cheeks.

“Oh fuck!”, he gasps as Draco’s fingers move up and down once again, a little more pressure this time and a lot more purposeful. He knows exactly what Draco is asking and he can’t nod quick enough. The moment he does, Draco’s face transforms with a devious smile but he never gets a chance to reconsider because he’s being pulled into the room and undressed with a single, neat spell.

Draco quietly pushes him onto the bed and stands at the edge slowly taking his own clothes off. Harry feels a little self conscious lying there completely naked as Draco’s fingers move steadily over the buttons of his own shirt and his eyes rake across Harry’s bared skin like a predator taking note of some helpless little animal at its mercy. He would protest but the heat in those gray eyes makes something infernal burn inside him.

So he stays where he is, bared, watching Draco slowly peeling off his clothes as those eyes make obscene promises. He stays where he is as Draco finally vanishes his own trousers and stands naked in front of him, pale skin alight with fire. He stays where he is as Draco picks up his wand from the floor and casts a silent spell--and he feels a sudden warmth between his legs and gasps at the realisation of the spell Draco’s just cast.

He reaches down and touches himself there, feels the wetness on his fingers and can’t help but moan at the slickness and everything it implies. He’s too lost in the sensation to realise that Draco has moved closer to the bed, he’s leaning down and suddenly his hands are gripping Harry’s thighs and pulling him closer by the legs and Draco’s above him and his skin is burning against Harry’s and his cock is rubbing against Harry’s and his mouth is hot against Harry’s neck, teeth biting down and fingers digging into his thighs and wet cock rubbing against him in the most intimate places, teasing him, and then Draco’s inside him.

Draco’s inside him, he’s gentle and slow and almost tearing him apart and so close. Harry can smell the spicy scent of Draco, can feel his soft hair against his forehead and his heartbeat against his chest as Draco stays still letting him adjust. It’s a moment stuck in time, heat crawling between them and sweat dripping and Harry’s legs crossed high behind Draco’s back and then he moves and the world is shifting again. It’s shifting as Draco leans up and looks down at him, eyes almost black and he moves. He pulls out and enters Harry again, this time faster and rougher and Harry can feel him inside himself with every thrust and every movement and Draco digs his toes into the bed and fucks him hard.

Draco flips them over and fucks up into Harry, fingers digging into his hips and making him slam down onto Draco’s cock.

Draco moves again, turning them over once again, fucking Harry from behind. He’s got Harry’s hair in a grip, he’s pulling Harry’s head back and ramming into him so hard that he’s crying. He’s crying because it feels so good, he’s never felt such reckless abandon and it’s so fucking liberating.

Draco pulls him up, his back to Draco’s chest and that makes his cock go even deeper and Harry’s so close to coming and Draco bites down on his shoulder and Harry’s crying out and he feels Draco’s cock throbbing inside him and then Draco is coming too and Harry feels a wetness spreading down his thighs and he collapses down on the bed with a mind wonderfully blank.

He falls asleep without a single word, knowing that Draco will take care of him.

***

He wakes up before Draco and like the pervert that he is, he lays there quietly watching Draco. His eyes are closed, long lashes brushing against his cheeks which is such a cliche to even think that if he said it to Draco, the git would call him a corny, romantic idiot and throw something at his face.

Adjusting the pillow beneath his head, he settles on his side and watches Draco’s chest rising and falling with each breath. His hair is fanning out messily over his pillow and that sight is all he wants to wake up to for the rest of his life. It doesn’t matter what Narcissa said yesterday, Sebastian doesn’t matter and Smith doesn’t matter - nothing else matters. Just this.

“Will you stop gawking at me? I haven’t even woken up yet,”, Draco mumbles sleepily and Harry lunges on him. He squeals and tries to get away but Harry has him pinned to the bed with his arms and his legs and he’s not letting go.

“Get off me, you brute!”

“No, I shan’t!”, Harry replies, kissing all over Draco’s face like an overexcited crup but he doesn’t give a single fuck right now. He will slobber all over Draco if he wants to and no one can stop him.

“I knew it,”, Draco gasps, possibly feeling the wetness on his cheek, “I knew it was a bad idea! Should never have gone to that bloody meeting!”

“Too late,”, Harry crows in victory, slowly starting to move above Draco because he can feel something digging into his hip and he’ll be damned if he lets any morning woods go to waste.

“So, you _do_ fancy me,”, he whispers in Draco’s ear just as he feels Draco’s hips starting to move under his.

Merlin, this will never get old! The feeling of Draco hard beneath him, gasping and moving against him like they’re teenagers rubbing up in some dark corner of school and coming in their pants.

Oh Godric, the thought of pushing seventeen year old Malfoy against the wall after a quidditch match and fucking him with his leather guards still on---

“I beg your pardon, have I been unclear here? Was my cock in your arse last night not clear enough?”, Draco challenges him with a very distracting twist of his lips.

Harry doesn’t like being sassed when he is trying to get off. He lets go of Draco’s hands and grips his wrists instead, his dainty wrists that fit perfectly in Harry’s hands and they look beautiful pinned against the sheet.

“Don’t be a git when I’m trying to fuck you,”, he orders.

Draco struggles against Harry’s grip, he shifts this way and that but his eyes tell a different tale altogether. He likes it, Harry realises. He likes being held down, _oh Circe!_

“Trying to fuck me? I must’ve missed that memo,”, the git growls still struggling, trying to get his legs freed from Harry’s. And his voice takes on this breathy quality from all his grappling and Harry just wants to tie him up and watch him fight against the bindings.

Bloody hell! He imagines dark silk tying those delicate wrists above his head while he lays helpless on a bed, thrashing about. But also Malfoy pinned against the shower wall with his quidditch breeches untied and hanging off his waist, held up by his shin guards and not a stitch on him otherwise.

“Oh fuck!”, he swears at that thought, thrusting against Draco beneath him who gasps at the sudden upheaval of their slow, teasing torture. He stops struggling and Harry feels his mouth against his neck.

Well, apparently they’re not teasing anymore.

“What were you thinking?”, Draco asks, licking a very deliberate path across his jaw. And Harry’s so lost in pleasure he can only utter a dumb, “Wha’?”

“Just now, you were thinking something. I could tell, you were almost panting like a crup with a bone.”

Harry feels a sudden flush of embarrassment at having been found out. He can’t tell Draco what he was thinking, he’d think Harry was a pervert. He’d--

The world tilts around him and before he knows what’s happened, Harry’s on his back and Draco is holding him down with a freakishly strong grip that tells Harry that the git was not actually struggling against him before. He was playing Harry like he has always played Harry.

Then the unbidden image of a half dressed Malfoy in the quidditch showers comes to mind, flipping Harry over and fucking him against the lockers and he can’t help the moan he lets out. Above him, Draco smirks just as his fingers find Harry’s cock.

“Fuuuck!”, he groans as Draco’s hand moves faster, a finger teasing the slit.

“Tell me,”, he demands and flicks his wrist in just the perfect way that has Harry begging. “Tell me what you were thinking.”

“I was thinking of tying you up,”, he hisses hands flying up to Draco’s waist pulling him down over himself.

Draco gets the hint and lets go of Harry. He lies down on top of him, legs spread around Harry’s and cock leaking against his stomach. Harry twitches, tries to grind up against Draco but fingers digging into his hips stop him. “Tell me first,”, he orders.

His cock lying against Harry’s, throbbing and not moving at all is maddening. Harry wants to move, so badly, he wants to drag his cock against Draco’s for delicious friction but he stays still. “Then I started thinking about you at Hogwarts, in your quidditch uniform. And how you’d look with nothing on but your breeches. Undone, hanging above your shin guards.”

Draco gasps then, his chest moving against Harry’s, his dick shifting a little and driving Harry mad. He continues, “Then when you flipped us over, I thought about you fucking me against the lockers. Still in my Gryffindor robes and nothing else.”

Draco moves then, dragging his cock against Harry’s very deliberately, “You kinky fuck!”

Harry feels fingers parting his cheeks, that same wetness from last night and then Draco’s pushing inside without a warning. Harry would say something but he’s too busy getting fucked.

“I can just see you, strutting about in your precious Gryffindor robes. I would fuck you so hard, Potter. They’d hear you all over the bloody school, screaming my name.”

“Oh, fuck! Fuuuu--”

“How’d you like it if they found us, fucking on the quidditch pitch? Draco Malfoy taking their precious Golden Boy from behind? Or maybe the Saviour could ride me, the brilliant seeker that he is?”

Harry’s saying something, yelling something but he can’t hear himself over the blood rushing through his veins. He can’t hear himself over Draco’s filthy mouth. And Draco’s rougher now, his cock feels bigger than last night even though Harry knows that can’t be true.

“You like my kinky fuckery, eh?”, he manages to say between moans and gasps.

Draco responds by pushing his legs up and hooking them over his shoulders and making him scream.

***

A knock on the front door comes as a surprise mostly because the people who know where Draco lives all have floo clearance. And they were at Sunday breakfast just this morning - which was a very eventful experience, full of tears and hugs and cheeks being pinched and Teddy looking utterly confused by everything - so it can’t be mother or Andromeda or Teddy. Also, they would floo.

And if it was mother, she’d likely send an owl ahead of herself, announcing her visit after what happened the last time--well, that’s better left unsaid.

He shrugs when Harry asks who it could be, and goes to answer the door.

“Draco! Hi!”

_Merlin’s bollocks, what’s he--_

“Are you okay? I’ve been trying to reach you--”

_He has to make this stop, he can’t let---_

“--but the owls came back, for some reason--” He puts a finger to his lips to stop the talking but the idiot doesn’t get it. Of course not, why would Draco ever think otherwise. He goes to close the door, maybe that’ll be a hint---

“I was really worried abou--”

Harry appears behind him then and sees who it is and Draco gives up. He gives up and moves aside and lets Harry see who the intruder is. Because of course, it’d be too much to ask that this meeting never happen.

“--oh! You have company,”, the fool states the obvious like he’s just discovered the cure to dragon pox.

And Harry chuckles -- honest to Merlin chuckles. And says, “Hi!”

“Hi, uh, sorry I didn’t realise he had company.” He flushes like a bloody doll and Draco really can’t salvage this so he sighs and walks back inside the flat and goes straight to the kitchen because he is going to need whiskey for this conversation.

He hears the two of them talking, the front door closing quietly as Harry says, “Don’t worry about it. I’m Harry, by the way.”

Draco rolls his eyes and opens a brand new bottle of Hebridean, pouring himself a glass. Harry always does that, introduces himself, like anybody in the wizarding world would need to be introduced to the Boy Wonder.

“Oh, sorry--I didn’t even introduce myself! I’m James, Draco’s new partner.”

He downs the whiskey and pours himself another.

“Oh, oh, wow! James, huh?”

He can hear it in the bastard’s voice, the joy hidden there. He’s going to tease Draco about this. Relentlessly.

“Yeah, I uh--I suppose we became partners after you left?”

“Hmm, yes. Well, have a seat, James.”

“Oh, thank you!”

He knows it’s rude of him to be hiding in the kitchen when he’s got guests, but he’ll be damned if he goes in there sober. Taking a deep breath, he downs the second glass just as James is telling Harry that he graduated from Hogwarts two years ago and has just finished his Auror training. That, in fact, Draco is his first partner.

“Really? Well, you’re in good hands. Draco’s a brilliant auror,”, the git says loudly, making sure his voice carries and Draco can hear him in the kitchen.

James laughs because of course he finds this idiocy funny. He’ll probably be worshipping at Potter’s feet any second. Draco catches himself, he’s just called him Potter. The Hebridean must be working its magic.

“He is!”, James agrees equally loudly and Draco almost rushes in there to tell him he will not win himself any favours by kissing arse, but remembers the reason he’s hiding out here in the first place and stays put.

“So, you went to Hogwarts. Which house?”

_Salazar fucking Slytherin, here it comes!_

“Hufflepuff!”, James announces quite proudly.

Draco clenches his jaw, nods to himself once and leaves the kitchen with the bottle of Hebridean and three glasses floating behind him. Both James and Harry turn to look at him with very different expressions.

James looks happy like his parents have just bought him the best broom in the market. He even smiles at Draco.

And Harry, well he looks ecstatic too but with a very prominent twist of something sinister. His eyes are full of mirth, shining behind his glasses and Draco wants to strangle him.

 _But not in front of company_ , murmurs mother’s voice in his head.

“You’ve brought whiskey?”, Harry asks, even though he can see full well that yes, Draco has brought whiskey.

“Have your glasses stopped working, Potter?”, he snaps instinctively.

And Potter covers his mouth with a hand, Draco can tell he’s hiding a smile there. He can tell that Potter is enjoying this, getting a rise out of him in front of James who is completely oblivious to the tension in the room.

“No, I just...thought you might offer James water before bringing out hard liquor.”

He catches Draco’s eye and holds it. He’s really enjoying this, the bastard. Draco tries to convey just how many different ways he’s going to hurt him if he doesn’t stop--

“So, James. You’ve just joined the Aurors, you said?”

“Yes, just last month,”, James replies with a grin on his childish face. Merlin, he probably hasn’t even had his wisdom teeth in yet, Draco realises.

“So you’re quite young then?”, Potter pushes.

And James, sweet naive James, falls for it. “Oh yeah, I’m turning twenty next month. Not going to be a teenager anymore, it’ll be a big change!”

“Oh, I bet!”, fucking Potter agrees like he’s going through the exact same thing. He even adds, “...huge change.”

Draco wants to drown himself.

***

“Robards assigned you with a nineteen year old Hufflepuff named James.”

James left about two hours ago. And Draco has been in his study since then under the pretense of writing a very important letter to a relative in Romania. He has been in there, pacing and drinking and hearing out for sounds of Harry.

And he only came out when he was sure Harry was asleep. And all he heard opening the door to the bedroom, was loud snoring. He settled into bed, taking care not to disturb Harry at all and he was so close to dozing off himself when the crown prince of Gryffindor uttered that gem with barely contained glee.

He can only sigh, loud and laborious because if Potter went through the trouble of waiting for him for two hours and pretending to be asleep - fake snoring, ten points to Gryffindor for that one - then he will not let Draco go to sleep without having his fun.

“Yes.”

“Nineteen...Hufflepuff….James.”

“Potter,”, he warns.

“...nineteen…”

That’s it! He sits up and faces the speccy bastard who, of course, looks giddy and not at all startled. Draco’s had enough, he fetches his wand from under his pillow and points it in Potter’s face whose expression doesn’t change.

Oh, right.

“Perhaps you can’t see it without your bloody glasses, Potter, but I’ve got my wand two centimetres from your face and I will--

“I can see it,”, the asrsehole interrupts Draco’s threat and then grins which should’ve been a hint but Draco’s too angry to notice and ends up being rolled around like a bloody ball till Potter has situated him where he wants him and snuggles against him like he’s a pillow and Draco can’t move because Potter is holding onto him like a squid with his arms and legs. He doesn’t know where his wand has ended up and Potter won’t let go of him so he can look for it.

Instead, he insists on burrowing closer to Draco even though there’s no way he could get any closer.

“Goodnight,”, the git whispers and kisses Draco on the cheek before shifting against him once more and falling asleep.

_Except._

“So does he live with his parents or…?”

“Go to sleep, Potter!”, he grinds his teeth and makes it very clear that he will kill him in his sleep if he doesn’t shut up.

“Has he started drinking yet or--”

“I’ll fucking kill you, you Gryffindor bastard!” He struggles against the vice like grip Potter's limbs have on him but he struggles in vain. Potter doesn't even budge. 

“I love you.”

“....”

“I said I love you.”

“I heard."

“Slytherin prick.”

***

Draco hates waking up in the morning. For some people that might be an exaggeration, Harry realizes, but not for Draco. He actually, absolutely and completely hates waking up regardless of how many hours of sleep he’s had.

Just two days ago, Harry had gone to wake him up fully expecting to see the git willingly wake up for the first time. And he’d been stupid enough to expect that because Draco’d been asleep for nearly fifteen hours. And even after such a long sleep, he’d woken up with dark eyes fixed on Harry’s face and a litany of curses that’d left him speechless.

So, now he knows what to expect as he shakes Draco awake.

“I think I’m dying,”, the git mutters, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

Harry rolls his eyes - he’s smart enough to do it with his back to Draco - while walking towards the bathroom and throws a very dry, “Yell for me when you’re sure,”, over his shoulder.

The bastard makes a very mean dig at Harry’s eyesight and his hair but it’s nowhere near the venom he used to spit at eleven years old so Harry turns and rolls his eyes properly this time but doesn’t wait around to hear the response. At least one of them should try to get to work on time, he reckons.

That plan gets dismantled when he sees Draco climbing into the shower with him, still wearing his pajamas asking, “What was that you were saying about fucking me in the quidditch showers with my breeches on?”

Harry is very late for work that day, and has no excuse when Kingsley asks him if he’s made up with his former partner and if that darkening mark on his neck is an insect bite of some sort.

He almost wishes he had had a heart attack in Robards’ office that day so he wouldn’t have to hear this today.

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Castle was a big influence on this, as I said all through, because I wanted to create a world where Harry and Draco know each other for years, love each other for years but don't say it because in life, fear can blind you from the things most obvious to others. 
> 
> And because I realised that my writing - at least in the HP fandom - has become a little monotonous and predictable, I am going to try something new. A next!gen fic. A next!gen fic with angst, pining, and happy endings because I can't change that much and I can't not write angst. So, see you all on the other side!


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